Things to Come
by HisImpossibleGirl
Summary: "Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light." Madeleine L'Engle Second in the "Things Unseen" series. Continues the story of the Doctor and Dex
1. Prologue

omething whispers in the edge of Susan's mind. It niggles, tickles like an itch that she cannot scratch, and she follows it, leaving Grandfather bartering with a couple of Lucanians. She knows he won't miss her for a while yet.

There is a commotion to her left. A pack of Hi'alderi have surrounded a little boy, barking enthusiastically.

It is immediately apparent to Susan that the boy doesn't speak Hi'alder. He is backed against a wall, eyes wide with fear. Susan feels a stab of compassion. She'd been intimidated by the Hi'alderi when she'd first met them, too.

She sends them off, waving her arms, grateful for the TARDIS translation circuit. She doesn't want the boy to think her mad.

She turns to him. He has messy dark hair, a bit too long, and large, brilliant green eyes. He is breathing hard, chest heaving. Susan thinks he cannot be more than eight; he is very small. She approaches him slowly.

"Are you alright?" she asks softly, sliding to her knees in front of him.

He locks his gaze onto her, eyes wide and luminous, and suddenly, Susan understands the niggling in her mind.

The boy is Gallifreyan.

She wonders what he is doing off-planet. Surely he should be at the academy. "You're far from home," she says gently, wondering who he was with and why he'd been left alone on an asteroid bazaar.

He nods, and she thinks for a moment that he might cry. His eyes glitter with unshed tears, and his face is full of confusion and fear. "I don't know where I am," he says, voice cracking slightly. He looks completely overwhelmed.

Susan wants to comfort him. She tentatively reaches for his hand. "You're on the asteroid bazaar, in the Rings of Akhaten."

He gives her a blank look, but she notices that he grips her hand tightly.

The little boy's timeline flashes before her eyes. It is bright and shining, a beautiful deep green woven through with golds and reds and warm browns. She realizes what, who, this little boy is, just how critical of a role he will play, and she trembles under the weight of the knowledge.

She also sees the danger.

The details fade as quickly as they'd come - she'd never been gifted in the temporal arts, much to her father's embarrassment - but she knows what she has to do, knows that it is extremely important.

She looks him in the eye, grips his other hand in hers. He returns her gaze, and she thinks that he must be very brave.

"I'm going to help you," she says slowly, seriously.

He nods, and she knows that he trusts her.

She gently raises her fingertips to his temples and slips into his mind. He shudders, but does not pull away.

Slowly, carefully, she shields him, building defenses from the inside out, piece by piece, layer after layer. It is painstaking work, hiding such a mind, but Susan is a talented telepath, and she applies all of her abilities to masking this little boy. She is nearly finished, has built an impenetrable wall, when she remembers.

Even the strongest walls can be broken.

Working quickly now, she adds one last layer. It is not a barrier, will not deflect an attack, but she hopes it will be his greatest defense.

She disguises his mind.

She makes one last check, satisfied that she's done her best, desperately hoping that it's enough. The future depends on it.

She gently releases him.

He looks at her, eyes luminous and round with wonder. "What did you do?" he asks, voice awed.

She squeezes his hand. "I made it so that nobody can find you," she says.

He blinks at her, obviously confused.

She can feel Grandfather approaching. She doesn't have time to explain.

"It's time for you to go," she says gently, laying a light kiss on his forehead.

He nods at her, wide eyed and serious.

She turns, heading off in search of Grandfather. She knows he is looking for her.

Susan feels a crackle of energy behind her. It raises the hair on her arms.

She closes her eyes tightly and hides the memory. She can hear Grandfather calling her name.


	2. Chapter 1

"Oi! You're dripping buñola juice on my TARDIS!"

Dex looks at the Doctor. He is leaning on the railing, arms folded across his chest, eyebrow cocked menacingly. He is also covered in purple pulp; large white seeds are scattered through his hair, half of which is plastered to his head, the rest standing comically in every direction. He is soaked in sticky magenta juice. It runs down his nose and drips onto the grating.

Dex falls over in a fit of giggles.

The Doctor can't help but join him. It had been three weeks since Dex had dimension jumped his way to the TARDIS, and in a fit of nostalgia, he'd suggested that their first trip be to Barcelona- the planet, not the city. He'd inadvertently landed them on the last day of the Buñol festival, which the Barcelonians capped off with a city wide food fight. He'd swung open the doors of the TARDIS, babbling enthusiastically about dogs with no noses, and SPLAT! He'd been greeted with a buñola fruit to the face. Dex thought it uproariously funny.

It had been great fun, running through the sticky streets of Barcelona, snatching handfuls of fruit from cheering spectators and hurtling them at each other. Dex had the distinct advantage of being small enough to hide in the crowd. He'd dart through the hoards of Barcelonians, ducking and weaving, disappearing just long enough for the Doctor to get concerned. Once, he'd waited until the Doctor was positively frantic, running his hands fiercely through his hair and pushing purposefully through the crowd, before he'd crept up behind him and tossed a whole bucketful of buñola pulp onto his back. The Doctor had grabbed him, wondering absently where Dex had managed to find the bucket, and dumped him unceremoniously into a large vat of buñola juice that was sitting elevated in the town square.

Turns out, the Barcelonians set aside 15% of the annual buñola crop to be fermented into ceremonial wine for the final night of the celebration. Turns out, the wine sits in a large vat in the town square for the duration of the festival. Turns out, Barcelonians do not traditionally swim in ceremonial wine, nor do they take friendly suggestions how to improve their ancient festival to promote tourism and heart-healthy exercise.

The evening ended with the Doctor and Dex running for their lives.

Dex finds the Doctor in the galley making chai tea. The Doctor hands Dex a cup and they retreat to the study and settle in front of the fire. Dex stares into the flickering flames, seemingly lost in his thoughts. The Doctor watches him.

There were still moments when he'd catch his breath, remembering suddenly that Dex was her son. It isn't always obvious; it's the little things, how he drinks his tea with milk and no sugar, the way his face lights up when the Doctor smiles at him, his tongue that would just barely snake around the edge of his teeth when he was teasing. Sometimes, when he was least expecting it, Dex would say something that was just so Rose that the grief would flood him, his eyes would burn and he'd shake under the crippling weight of it. Then Dex would squeeze his hand or nudge his shoulder, and he'd come back, pulling himself together and finding a distraction.

He knows Dex is still mourning her, too. Sometimes the Doctor hears him cry out in his sleep. The TARDIS will sing and sometimes he goes to Dex's room, sitting on the edge of his bed and running a hand over his back until he quiets. Dex doesn't sleep much, usually four hours a night, and the Doctor knows it is an effort to avoid the nightmares. The lack of sleep doesn't seem to be a serious detriment to Dex, so the Doctor doesn't say anything.

Neither of them ever mention her.

The glow of the firelight flickers across Dex's face, and the Doctor remembers. "Doctorate of theoretical physics, really?" He is proud of her.

Startled, Dex turns his gaze to the Doctor. "Yeah. She'd just finished." He returns to staring into the fire.

The Doctor hasn't realized that he'd said that out loud. "Always knew she was brilliant," he says quietly.

"'Course she was," says Dex, shaking his hair out of his face. He gives the Doctor a small smile.

Rassilon, he misses her so much. There is suddenly so much he wants to know. She'd lived years without him, had a son and a job and a degree. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it abruptly. He doesn't know where to begin.

Dex notices. Dex always notices. "We can talk about her," he says softly, still gazing into the firelight.

"I don't know where to start," says the Doctor. There is something about Dex that pulls the honesty out of him.

Dex scratches his neck. "Those memories you showed me," he says slowly, looking at the Doctor with big luminous eyes, "I've never seen her like that." He pauses, seems to be debating with himself. "She loved you," he murmurs, so quietly the Doctor almost doesn't catch it.

It is the Doctor's turn to gaze into the fire. "She did." He is silent for a long time, remembering. "Dex? Can I ask you a question?"

Dex catches himself before he rolls his eyes, giving the Doctor a wry smile instead. They are finally getting somewhere. "'Course."

The Doctor hesitates. He isn't sure how to phrase this, isn't sure he wants to know, not really. Dex raises his eyebrows. "You never mention your father," he blurts. Oh, way to go. He isn't jealous. He'd told her to have a fantastic life, meant it with all his hearts. Oh, he wishes he could have given it to her, the adventure that he would never have, wanted it more than anything, but the most important thing was for her to have had it.

But Dex just shrugs. "Don't have one," he says, not looking particularly bothered by the fact. "He left when I was a baby."

The anger chokes him. He cannot imagine anyone willingly abandoning Rose and Dex. Rassilon, what he wouldn't give to have both of them. "What?" he manages.

"S'what Gran said. Mum doesn't talk about it. Supposedly he was some sort of scientist or something. Worked with Mum." He shakes his bangs out of his eyes and continues, "Mickey says I look like him when I shave my head."

He hurts for Rose. She'd been left alone in that parallel world, brokenhearted, and then abandoned again, this time with a baby. He cannot regret Dex- Dex is amazing - but the thought of Rose lonely and jilted and hurting is unbearable.

"Was she happy?" He has to know.

Dex breaks out into a wide grin. "Yeah. She was."

He sighs in relief. Fantastic. "Dex, did she ever tell you that she met a werewolf in Scotland?"

Dex's eyes go big and round, and they spend the rest of the evening swapping stories of Rose.


	3. Chapter 2

"You're not-" he cannot even finish the question.

There is such pain and regret and longing and fear in his eyes that she cannot tell him. She finds that she cannot lie, either. "No," she says, voice breaking. She tries to pass it off as a laugh. "It's Mum."

It's true. Mum had found out last week.

She changes the subject, trying to tease him about working in the shop, but the humor falls flat.

All too soon, he is gone.

She hadn't told him.

Rose jerks awake and sits abruptly. She'd been dreaming of the Doctor. There is a strange tingling in her skin, almost like her foot had fallen asleep. She shivers and pulls her jacket tightly around her. There is a small, scorched hole in the left shoulder.

She remembers.

The stars going out. The dimension cannon. Strange planets in the sky. The Dalek. Dex.

Dex.

She leaps to her feet and runs for the street. It is still dark, but the sky looks normal again. She can see all of the stars.

She does not see Dex.

She sits, back leaned against an abandoned shop window. She didn't really see Dex, she thinks. She'd been exhausted and nearly dead on her feet, and apparently, stunned by a Dalek. She didn't even realize Daleks could stun.

Still, she needs to get home, wants to see her son. The dream had set her on edge. She needs to tell Dex. Rose had sheltered him from the day he was born, never explaining about her job or parallel worlds or his father. She'd done it to protect him -mostly. One heart or no, there were at least a dozen organizations that would kill to bury a scalpel in Dex for "research purposes," Torchwood included. She couldn't trust anyone. Thankfully, Dex had been a healthy -and relatively normal- child, and Rose had managed to keep his heritage secret. As far as Dex knew, he was completely ordinary, despite being a self-proclaimed genius, which he proudly stated that he'd inherited from his mother, who was "brilliant." Rose always smiled at that statement. She was no idiot, had even managed a doctorate in theoretical physics, but she knew that Dex's brain power wasn't a product of her genetics.

She will tell him tonight, she thinks, pulling out her dimension cannon. It would be hard; she had no idea how to begin, and talking about the Doctor always hurt, but it was time Dex knew the truth. She pushes the button and waits for the familiar pull of the void.

Nothing.

It's been over thirty minutes; she just knows, can feel it. She doesn't panic. She gazes at the sky, noticing the stars and the lack of planets. Whatever had been causing breakdown of the walls of the universe must have been set to rights. She wonders if there are any residual gaps. She needs to get back to Dex.

There is only one person who can help her, and the best place to find him is Cardiff.

She shoulders her gun and heads in the direction of the High Road. She needs to find a ride.


	4. Chapter 3

16 hours, 23 minutes, 4.5 seconds since he'd been abandoned here.

At least he still has his time sense.

The Doctor sighs. It is nearly 3 am, and he is alone in the Torchwood hub. Jack had finally left him, muttering an excuse about getting some "fresh air."

He knows he's being a git.

He had barely said a word to anyone since the TARDIS had disappeared this morning, leaving him stuck in 21st century Cardiff. Jack had been kind, telling him he could stay here as long as he liked, but he'd just shrugged and dropped into a chair. He will not stay here, cannot spend the rest of his abbreviated life working for Torchwood.

He isn't sure what he will do.

He'd spent the last few hours rummaging through Jack's archive, hunting for the tech to build a new sonic screwdriver. He'd gathered a few parts, hand a -almost- working prototype, but he would have to go off planet for the rest. He needed to fix Jack's vortex manipulator.

And that wasn't going to happen without a sonic screwdriver.

He is stuck in this century with no way of traveling, time or space. He supposes that he can wait for a version of himself to land in Cardiff to refuel, but given the emotional baggage located in this time period, it's unlikely to happen soon. He only has fifty years to wait, then it won't matter.

A blink of an eye.

It is so easy to hate him, the Time Lord, dumping him here -his emotional baggage, too- without the TARDIS. He never had any say in the matter. He can hate all he likes, and does, but cannot find it in himself to blame the Time Lord. He would have done the same had their positions been reversed. Naturally. He's the same man.

He wants to throw the sonic prototype across the room in anger, does. It is a half-hearted attempt; the sonic clatters across the floor and slides to a stop. It is not satisfying in the least.

The ensuing silence is deafening.

Jack looks out over the bay, wondering what he's going to do with the "war-torn menace" that is waiting for him in the hub. He knows that the Doctor doesn't want to stay here, understands completely, but Jack isn't sure what choice he has. Project indigo is not equipped for off-planet travel; besides, it had gone back to UNIT with Martha.

He wonders briefly whether the Doctor would prefer to consult for UNIT. Given his history with both organizations, it was more likely.

He heads back to the hub. He will ask him.

He is nearly to the lift when he sees the woman. Strange, he thinks, for her to be out this late; he hasn't seen anyone else for the hour and a half since he'd left the hub. She is standing by the water tower, gazing at it intently. He steps closer, intending to greet her, and she turns.

"Jack!"

Before he can quite grasp the situation, she is in his arms, and he is spinning her, laughing and kissing her on the lips.

He sets her down gently, can't wipe the mad grin off his face. "Sweetheart, you're going to have to explain."

"Assuming you're 'bout to show me an invisible lift that takes me to a secret underground base." She deepens her voice, imitating his accent and giving a surprisingly decent rendition of his seduction face. "'We can talk here.' Works with all the girls, yeah?" She grins at him, tongue between teeth, and he can do nothing but laugh. He's missed her.

"Come on, then," she says, pulling him toward the water tower. "It's cold out, and I need a cuppa."

He remembers, suddenly, and plants his feet, pulling her gently back to him. She gazes at him in confusion, and he puts a hand on her shoulder.

"We need to talk first."


	5. Chapter 4

He is sitting on the bench fiddling with the sonic when he hears Jack come in through the back entrance. Wait, is that two sets of footsteps?

"Doc, found somebody who wants to see you!"

He doesn't look up. As if he wants to see anyone. He'd bet ten quid that Jack had picked up a woman in a misguided attempt to cheer him up. It's the last thing he wants. "Jack-"

"Doctor."

That voice. It can't be. Something twists in his chest, and he stands, dropping the sonic. He'd know that voice anywhere.

She is standing in front of him, wearing a battered leather jacket and staring at him with big brown eyes. But she can't be. He drinks her in, tries to remember all of their trips to Cardiff, tries to remember when she'd ever been so lean, so mature, so beautiful.

He cannot.

He hears the door to Jack's office click shut. The sound seems to startle her, and she runs to him, is suddenly wrapped around him, all sweet and pink and yellow and Rose, and he is home.

Before he can even begin to comprehend, she pulls back, eyes wet and shining, but oh, there's that smile, the one he'd missed so much. It lights up her face, and he thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful.

He is suddenly aware of the erratic pounding of his heart in his chest.

Something inside him cracks, and he pulls back. It is his worst nightmare. She is here, in front of him, warm and solid and beautiful, and he wants nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and never let go. But she is not his.

It takes everything in him to step back from her, everything in him not to pull her in, to let her believe he is someone else, just for tonight. He doesn't even care how she got here, he just wants her, wants to hold her close and breathe in her scent, to touch and taste and- he cuts off the thought. He can't allow himself to go there.

She sees the horror and the pain in his eyes, the self loathing and the guilt, and she snaps. We aren't doing this again, not tonight, she thinks. Not after all this time. She follows him, lays a hand gently on his cheek and looks him in the eye.

Oh, stars help him. "Rose-" he grates, but she cuts him off, sliding her fingers over his lips.

"Shhh." She lays her head on his chest, feels the thud of his heart. She sighs into him. He smells exactly the same.

He pulls her back, more roughly than he intends, fingers digging into her shoulders. "You don't understand." He grimaces. The last thing he wants to do is shout at her.

She rolls her eyes. Bloody alien. "I think I do," she says slowly, trying to make him see reason.

"It's not what you think-"

She cuts him off again, speaking softly. "You look the same. You have the same thoughts, the same emotions, the same memories." She slides her fingers down his arm and grips his hand tightly. "You grabbed my hand and you whispered, 'run.'"

Oh. She knows. He does not dare to hope. "But I'm not him."

She leans back, looks him over appraisingly. When her gaze meets his, he is overwhelmed. There is such love, such tenderness there that he can hardly breath. "No," she says slowly. "You aren't him."

He nods sharply. She's starting to understand now. Doesn't make it hurt any less.

She pulls him back to her again, patience wearing thin. "But you're the Doctor," she says forcefully, "and I love you."

This time, when she falls into him, he lets her, pulls her in and holds her tightly, presses his face into her hair and runs his thumb across her temple. He feels a dampness on his cheeks, realizes he's crying, doesn't care. She is here and she loves him. He thinks his heart will burst. Suddenly, he is kissing her, deeply and frantically and passionately, cannot get enough of her. Her hands are everywhere, in his hair and on his back and under his jaw, and it is so good, so beyond anything he's ever experienced in all of his 900 years, the joy of her. He presses into her, exploring the warmth of her body, cataloging the changes, all lean muscle and soft skin. Oh, but she's beautiful. He is awed by it.

Finally, finally, finally, she thinks. Eight long years, countless hours spent pouring over equations, late nights testing prototype after prototype, and hundreds of dimension jumps, dozens of realities, and finally, she is here. He is worth it. She'd dreamed of this, lived for this.

He takes her head in his hands, locks his gaze on her, and she can see the questions burning in his eyes.

"We can talk in the morning, yeah?" she says, laying a hand over his single heartbeat.

He starts to speak, but she cuts him off. She can't do this tonight. She knows it needs to happen, has to happen, but she is exhausted and overwhelmed and he is here, and it's been far too long. "Please, just give me tonight," she begs. She needs tonight.

How can he deny her anything, his gorgeous girl? She'd performed miracles for him, swallowing time and healing his hearts and crossing worlds to get to him. He looks at her, amber eyes wet and shining, all golden hair and warm skin and pink lips. Oh, yes. He can give her tonight.

He leans into her, pressing his lips on her forehead, steeling his nerves and gathering his voice. They were long overdue, the words.

"I love you, Rose Tyler," he murmurs into her ear, voice low and rough. It isn't perfect; his voice isn't steady and he doesn't look her in the eyes, would break if he did. She gives a tiny gasp and settles into his chest. He hears her sniffle, can feel the dampness of her tears as they soak through his shirt.

"I know," she sighs into him after a long while. "I always knew."

He feels a great weight lift off his chest, a burden he wasn't even aware of, and he feels lighter than he has in years. He is laughing, so full of joy that he cannot speak. He is crying in earnest now, still shaking with laughter, and he clings to her and spins her around. She is laughing with him, eyes shining, and oh, how he's missed it, the most beautiful sound in the universe.

It is the best night of his life.

She collapses onto his chest, quivering and spent, skin flushed and golden hair wisping into her face. She is breathing heavily into him, chest rising and falling with effort. They are one, hot bodies and deep shuddering breaths, hearts pounding, sweat drenched and shaking, basking in the hazy afterglow of their love. We are beautiful, he thinks, running a hand lazily up her back. He reaches around her, cradles her to him. She sighs, shifts, nestling into him, and oh, he loves her. He presses his lips to her forehead and murmurs it to her, I love you, I love you, I love you. He cannot stop, will never stop telling her. It is written in him, in this body that belongs to her, rhythm of the words pounding into him with every beat of his heart, with his every breath. I love you.

She sighs again, looking up at him. He thought she'd been asleep. Her eyes are full of mischief, and she is grinning his favorite tongue-touched grin. "Quite right, too."

Oh, the minx. He captures her lips and loses himself in her again.

The Doctor shifts and reaches across the bed, searching. It is cold and empty. He sits up, frantically pushing back the blankets, searching for any sign of her. Reality crashes into him, and he realizes.

It was a dream.

He often dreamed of her, his golden girl, each time he slept, but this dream had been different. Real. She was older, body hardened and slimmer, hair a more natural gold.

And he'd said it.

He never says the words in his dreams, is always cut off before he gets the chance.

He wonders why this dream was different.

He'd felt her, held her quivering in his arms, pulled her close and kissed her deeply. It was everything he ever wanted.

The hard part was waking up.

He pulls on a t-shirt and silently slips out of his room, wandering the dimly lit halls of the TARDIS until he finds the door he is searching for.

He sinks down into her bed, clutching a beige pillow that has long since lost the scent of her, and remembers.


	6. Chapter 5

Something is tickling his face. The Doctor groans, shifts, opens his eyes. Golden hair.

It all comes rushing back to him, and he snuggles closer to her, so very, very thankful that it hadn't been a dream.

He watches her sleep, hearing the soft woosh of her breath, stunned that he could miss something so small so much. She is lying curled on her side, legs wrapped around his. Her hair is splayed across the pillow and one arm is curled underneath her, the other draped across his chest. He smiles and rests his cheek on her head. He can hardly believe she's here.

She groans and turns into him, eyelids fluttering open. He wraps her into a hug - he can't help it, she's here - and kisses her lightly on the forehead. "Hello."

She mumbles something about ungodly hours, but she is smiling. He ducks down to kiss her, deeply this time, but she stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He forgives her when she runs the other through his hair. A happy grunt vibrates deep in his throat. He closes his eyes and leans into her.

"We need to talk," she says, and her voice is so serious that he opens his eyes. She is looking at him, face masked. He goes cold. Something is wrong.

"Cuppa?" he asks, voice deceptively light. He is scared.

She pauses, seems to be considering. "Alright," she says finally, "but then talk."

He nods. He is not liking the sound of this.

She is silent as they make their tea, barely meeting his eye. It is so unlike her, the silence, so unlike them. He follows her with their tea and she sits on the edge of the bed, picking at her fingernails. He settles on the floor, facing her. He wonders what she has to be nervous about.

"I need to get back home," she says finally. She looks at him now, eyes full of trepidation. "I mean to my universe."

You are home, he wants to say. This is your universe. His world is crashing and burning, and all he can manage is a small, "Why?"

She looks at her hands again. "Doctor, I'm sorry," she whispers. He is on the bed with her before he even realizes he's moved. She lets him wrap an arm around her shoulders but resists his attempt to pull her to him.

She leans back, sighs, clears her throat. "I have a son."

Oh. Oh, well that's... brilliant. He wonders about last night, decides that if she doesn't regret it, he won't either. He can't.

He must have said it out loud, the "oh," because she squirms and looks away. He wonders why she's so uncomfortable. It really is brilliant. He'd told her to have a fantastic life, meant it. He squashes the irrational jealousy that is rising in him and smiles gently at her.

"I mean-" she stammers, looks away, twisting her hands, looks back at him. "I mean, we have a son."

Rassilon, now he really is jealous. He doesn't need details, thanks. "Rose, I know how it works," he says, squeezing her hand.

"I mean you and I!" she blurts. Shit. She'd meant to break it to him gently. "We," she says quickly, babbling now. "Ours, I mean. He's ours. Dex."

A son? With Rose? Impossible. He cannot process the idea of being a father; it is far, far too much, so he turns to the science. His mind races, tries to come up with an explanation. He finds none. They hadn't been together for very long before he'd lost her, had still been caught up in the bliss of learning each other. She'd asked him once, about a week in, about protection, and he'd assured her that they were incompatible. Later, when her cycle had been a day late, it had crossed his mind to run tests, but he'd quickly forgotten about it, dismissing the thought as soon as it occurred. The next day, he had lost her. He knew she wasn't, couldn't be, but the thought of it had niggled in the back of his mind until- Oh. She'd lied.

"You-" The words won't come. He tries again. "On the beach, you said you weren't..." He is stunned, voice flat and low and just a tiny bit disbelieving. His arm slides off her shoulders.

She grips his hand, looks away. "I wasn't," she says softly. "It had been nearly a year for me."

A year. His mind churns, attempting to process the information. It had been 84 days for him. He'd counted every minute, every second as he worked feverishly, researching and making calculations and searching the stars. On the 83rd day, he'd burned his stacks of notes, a pile of ashes the only thing to show for his effort. He'd never considered how long it had been for her.

He suddenly realizes the implication of her statement, and he cannot breathe. "You mean..." He trails off, cannot complete the thought.

"Yeah." She is looking at her hands again. "He was four months old."

He is silent. She glances at him, cannot read the expression on his face, and it scares her.

He stares at her, his beautiful girl, tries to imagine her as a mother, tries to imagine a baby, their baby. It is too abstract, too much, and he can't quite believe it. "Rose..." he stammers, stars over. "Rose, I can't"

"S'okay," she says quickly, "You don't have to do anything. I just... wanted you to know." Her eyes are empty, defeated.

No. No, no, no. He can't see her like that. He suddenly, desperately, needs to comfort her. He leans against the headboard and pulls her to him, cradling her to his chest and running a hand through her hair. "Tell me about him," he says, hoping to make her feel better. He feels a stab of guilt. They could be discussing any little boy right now, not theirs, not his. It still has not hit him, the reality of it, the enormity.

"He's brilliant," she says automatically. She smiles softly. "Reminds me so much of you."

For the first time, he allows himself to picture it, a little boy with his genetic code, and something stirs deep in his heart. He suddenly wants - needs - to know everything. "Rose, how old is he?" he asks, trying to keep his voice natural.

"Nearly eight," she replies quietly, running her fingers around the collar of his t-shirt.

Eight years. He pulls her closer, hardly believing he's missed so much, so very grateful that she's here now.

"I've always wanted to ask," she says suddenly, as if she's just remembered. "He doesn't really look like you, this you, at all." She twitches her brow and gazes at him. "Why is that?"

He pauses, considering. "I've got enough DNA for 13 bodies," he says finally. "I suppose he could inherit traits from any of them." He grimaces, remembering some of his previous incarnations. "What does he look like?"

Rose smiles. "He's absolutely perfect."

"Oi!"

She laughs, nudging him with her shoulder. "Stop it, you both are." She pauses, conjuring an image of Dex in her mind, analyzing. "Suppose he reminds me a bit of the first you, back when you wore leather," she says, brow furrowed in thought. "But not his eyes," she adds quietly, as an afterthought. She'd always wondered about Dex's brilliant green eyes. Now she knows. The memory makes her smile.

"I wish you could see him," she murmurs into his chest, not quite aware that she's speaking aloud. She'd wished it many times, and his indifference hurt.

He does want to see, is nearly mad with curiosity, and maybe something else, something that he has not yet allowed himself to feel. "Rose," he says, sitting up straight and looking her in the eyes. "You can show me, if you want."

She stares at him, obviously confused. He clears his throat and scratches his neck. "I mean, I could look into your memories, if you'd let me."

Slowly, understanding dawns on her face, and then she is smiling shyly at him. He is struck by how beautiful she is. "I want you to see," she says.

He lifts his fingers to her temples, explaining about imagining a door. She rolls her eyes. He barely brushes her mind before she floods him with her past.

Rose standing naked in front of a full length mirror, hand pressed against the gentle swell of her belly. A tiny baby with black hair and intelligent green eyes. Months later, the same baby in a high chair, spewing half-mangled bits of pear back into Jackie's face. His first steps, halting and unsteady, and his triumphant grin as he stumbles into Rose's waiting arms. A dark haired toddler giggling uncontrollably as his mother tickles him, shrieking with joy as he chases her on his chubby legs. Perceptive eyes that watch her intelligently as she struggles with her homework, Jackie's concern when he still hasn't spoken his first word at two, Rose's insistence that he would when he was ready. Her surprise - and amusement - when he shakes his head vehemently at Thomas the Tank Engine and points demandingly at her biology book for bedtime reading, her slow realization that her son, though he didn't speak, was far, far more intelligent than she could have imagined. His insistence on wearing only black trainers, just like his father's, and his love of chai tea with lots of milk. Her shock when at four years old, he patters barefoot into the kitchen, dropping a draft of her term paper on the table, and says, "You might want to clarify your position in the closing argument, but the rest is fantastic! Have we got any bananas?" Her nodding, eyes wide, and silently passing him a banana; his nonchalance as he peels it, as if those weren't the first words he'd ever spoken. Her amusement when at five, he refuses to cut his hair, insisting that it cover his ears that are "too big." His love of hoodies and his aversion to baths. He and a little blonde haired boy exploding a whole carton of eggs in the microwave, his serious explanation to Pete that it had been an experiment to document the expansion of protein, he and the blonde boy running like mad from a shrieking Jackie, Rose dragging him back into the house to clean the mess. He and Rose studying complex equations, books and papers scattered across the kitchen table, his face lighting up with pride when she understands. The whole Tyler family being escorted out of her graduation ceremony when he brings an air horn, Jackie scowling, Rose grinning proudly. The last image is of him sleeping, hand curled under his head. She gently brushes his dark hair off his forehead and kisses him, whispering, "I love you."

The images fade, and for a long moment he cannot move. He is caught in an onslaught of love and fear and joy and pride and such an intense longing that he cannot breathe. He notices her looking at him, eyes wide and fearful. It breaks him, the fear, and he moves suddenly, crushing her to him as tightly as he can. She gives a small squeak and he loosens his grip enough for her to breathe. "Rose," he grates, voice low and rough with emotion. She looks up at him, and he is overwhelmed.

She seems to understand, smiles gently at him, and he can see the relief in her eyes.

He swallows deeply, takes a shuddering breath. His son. It isn't something he'd ever been aware of wanting, never something he'd considered, but now he cannot fathom how much he needs him, his little boy. He wants to know him, to learn his favorite color and teach him Gallifreyan physics and tuck him in at night. Oh, he'd had children before, had donated genetic material and been called "father," and of course, there had been Susan, long ago. But this boy is different. He is impossible, amazing, beautiful; he can hardly believe than anything of his could be so perfect. He loves him fiercely, with all his hearts, is so very proud of him already. He is a miracle, he and his mother. He looks down at Rose, who is curled into his chest, and feels such a burst of pride and love that it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

"Thank you," he says softly, reverently, cupping her cheek in his hand. He gazes at her so intensely that she cannot speak.

Suddenly, he is grinning like mad. "Come on, Rose Tyler!" he says, jumping out of bed and pulling her with him.

"Where we going?" she asks, confused. She'd forgotten his mercurial moods.

He laughs and wraps his arms around her. "We," he says cheerfully, punctuating the word with a light kiss, "are going to go get our son."

Before she can ask him how, he is pulling her out the door.

The Doctor breathes deeply into her pillow. He knows it will be a very long time before he sleeps again. He cannot shake the dream; it had been so vivid.

Dex will be awake soon, he realizes. He slides off the bed and shuts her door quietly.


	7. Chapter 6

The Doctor finds Dex in the galley munching on a slice of toast. "Where are we going today?" he asks, grinning enthusiastically as the Doctor approaches the table.

"Oh, I dunno," says the Doctor, reaching around Dex to grab a slice of toast off his plate. He plops down across from him. "Where do you want to go?"

Dex shoots him a look. He isn't the one who's memorized a map of the universe.

"Alright, alright," the Doctor says, holding his hands in the air, toast between his fingers. "What's something you've always wanted to do?"

Dex gazes at the ceiling, tongue pressed to his teeth. "I've always wanted to swim with sharks," he says excitedly, eyes lighting up with the possibility.

The Doctor puts down his toast and crinkles his brow. "I could take you to Keridelph 3," he says, nodding after a moment's pause. "They've got herbivorous sharks there."

Dex stares at the Doctor as if he's just dribbled on his shirt.

"What?"

Dex rolls his eyes. The Doctor is totally missing the point. "It's no fun if the sharks can't eat you," he says in the slow and practical voice that he usually reserves for Gran. "Defeats the purpose."

Rassilon, this child will be the death of him. The Doctor runs a hand furiously through his hair. He has a feeling that Dex is jeopardy-friendly enough without asking for trouble. "Dex," he says slowly, leaning over the table. "Remember what I said about being very, very careful?"

Dex shoves his bangs out of his face. "You know, I'm over 32 times more likely to be mauled by a moose than attacked by a shark," he informs the Doctor, folding his arms across his chest.

The Doctor pales and makes a mental note to avoid Alaska as he cocks an eyebrow at Dex. "No sharks," he says firmly.

Dex sighs and leans back in his chair. "What are we gonna do, then?"

The Doctor rests his chin on his hand, wondering what in the universe could possibly interest a seven year old. "Suppose I could take you to Disney World," he says, unconsciously wrinkling his nose at the idea.

Dex stares at him incredulously, mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Please, please tell me you're joking," he finally manages.

The Doctor realizes that Dex's age is completely irrelevant. "What then?" he asks, throwing his hands in the air in defeat.

Dex is quiet for a moment. "Aurora Borealis."

Oh. Oh, brilliant! The Doctor jumps up from the table. "I can do better than that!" he says, darting from the galley in a flurry of excitement.

Dex shrugs, swigging the remainder of his tea before following him to the console room.

The Doctor pokes his head into Jack's office, unable to wipe the grin off his face. "Jack, have you got a mobile?" he asks eagerly.

Jack leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Didn't figure you'd be up for hours," he says, winking. He notices the Doctor's lack of a jacket and his hastily buttoned oxford. "Good night?"

"Ja-ack," the Doctor whines impatiently. "I need your mobile."

Jack digs in his pockets and tosses his phone to the Doctor, who catches it easily. "I want details!" he calls to the Doctor's retreating back. The Doctor turns, fixing him with a glare, and Jack smiles innocently.

Rose catches him as he is furiously typing a number into the mobile. "Doctor?" She lays a hand on his arm.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up.

"What are you doing?"

He sits on the Torchwood bench and pulls her down beside him. "I don't have the technology here to find a rift large enough for us to get through," he says, looking at her seriously. "I need the TARDIS."

She frowns, "But he left you here," she says, remembering the conversation she and Jack had had last night.

He runs a hand through his hair. "He's got a mobile," he says, "a super phone, like yours. I'm going to call him."

Oh. She nods and takes his hand. He swallows, considering for the first time that there would be two of him, together, with her and their son. He is suddenly terrified. "Rose," he starts, gazing at her with deep chocolate eyes.

She seems to know what he's thinking, because she smiles and squeezes his hand. "I love you both, remember?" she says, running her fingers down a sideburn. "We'll figure it out."

He smiles gently at her and runs back to Jack's mobile. He trusts her.

The call connects. Seconds pass, dragging on eternally, and the Doctor wonders exactly what he will say. His thoughts are shattered by a shrill ringing coming from the bedroom.

Oh, he thinks, realizing. The ringing is coming from the pocket of his suit jacket, which is laying discarded on the floor where he'd dropped it last night. He must have slipped it into my pocket before he left me here, he thinks. He understands the reasoning, though he is annoyed by it. Now Earth has it's own Doctor. The Time Lord didn't need to keep the phone; he wasn't planning on returning for a very long time.

He disconnects the call and turns to Rose, who is looking at him with large amber eyes.

"I don't know what to do," he says, defeated. He slumps against the wall and closes his eyes.

Rose leans her head on his shoulder. "He left the phone with you, didn't he?" It isn't really a question. "Git."

He smiles wryly. He knows she doesn't mean it.

"What about Jack?" she asks, sitting up. "Hasn't he got a vortex-whatsit?"

"Vortex manipulator," he corrects automatically. He doesn't even bother opening his eyes. "It's broken."

She looks at him incredulously. "Can't you fix it?"

He sighs heavily. "I don't have a sonic."

She moves away from him, and he hears her footsteps retreating to the bedroom. He doesn't blame her. He has no way of getting her back to her son. His son. He rests his head in his hands. He has never hated the Time Lord more.

"Ha!" he hears her exclaim from the bedroom. Her footsteps come closer, and he hears a familiar electronic hum. He opens his eyes in disbelief. She is grinning at him, tongue between her teeth, waving the sonic in his face.

"You didn't check your pockets," she says, mockingly reproachful, and he realizes that she is right - he hadn't. " I knew he wouldn't just abandon you with nothing," she says, nudging him on the shoulder.

He jumps up and pulls her into a happy embrace. "Rose Tyler," he drawls, kissing her on the cheek. "You are brilliant!"

"What would you do without me?" she laughs, and he stills and grips her hands.

"Don't say that," he says seriously, dark eyes pleading. They stand like that for a moment, gazing at each other, remembering. Then he is off, pulling her behind him as he makes his way back to Jack's office.

"Vortex manipulator," he demands, poking his head through the door and holding out his hand expectantly.

"Yeah?" says Jack, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on his desk. "What about, ' you could go anywhere twice?'"

He musters up his best Oncoming Storm glare. Jack doesn't blink.

He scratches his neck and changes tactics. He moves toward Jack. "Rose and I have a son that's stuck in a parallel universe and we need to get to the TARDIS to get him back," he rattles off, giving Jack a wide grin. He is behind Jack's desk now, reaching into the drawer that holds the vortex manipulator. Jack hasn't moved. "Thanks!" he nearly runs out the door.

"Got it!" he says to Rose, holding his prize in the air. She rolls her eyes at him.

Jack follows him out of the office, glaring. "Doctor." His voice is hard.

"Hmm?" The Doctor is engrossed in his work, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as he waves the sonic over Jack's vortex manipulator.

Jack snatches it from him.

"Oi!"

Jack moves toward him. "You aren't going to feed me some fantastic bullshit sob story," he says, voice low and furious."I know you don't want to be stuck here, but that is low, even for you."

The Doctor blinks. "It's true!" he says, and he looks at desperately toward Rose. "Tell him."

Rose smiles shyly at Jack. "It's true," she says, pushing her hair back behind her ears. "He's nearly eight."

Jack's face breaks out into a huge grin. "Why didn't you just say so," he asks, tossing to vortex manipulator back to the Doctor. "Congratulations, Mum," he says, turning to Rose and squeezing her shoulder.

"We did," the Doctor says flatly, rolling his eyes as he catches the vortex manipulator.

The sonic screwdriver hums intermittently in the background while Rose quickly explains to Jack about Dex.

"It must have been hard," Jack says, squeezing Rose's hand and gazing at her with solemn blue eyes,"raising a Time Lord child all on your own."

The Doctor looks up from his work - he is finished now, anyway - and gazes at Rose, waiting for her answer. He imagines how scared she must have been, all alone with nobody to answer her questions, wondering throughout her pregnancy if he'd ever return for her, remembering the devastation on her face when he'd told her he couldn't. Oh, but she was amazing, his girl. She'd done it anyway; raised his son all alone, and done a fantastic job.

"Yeah," she says to Jack. "Was a bit scared, at first, but once I'd had him, things just sort of fell into place, ya know?" The Doctor can only stare at her.

The moment is broken when Jack reaches over and pulls her into a hug. It is friendly and innocent, but all the same, the Doctor cannot bear the sight of her in someone else's arms. He clears his throat.

They look at him with wide eyes.

"Fixed it," he says, attempting to keep his voice light, but the announcement comes out rougher than he intends.

Rose saves him. "Lets see, then!" she says excitedly, grinning her large grin and settling beside him, where she belongs, he thinks happily.

He smiles at her and grips her hand. "It works now," he says excitedly. "We can go anywhere."

Rose frowns. "But how are we gonna find the Doctor?"

He gazes at her, hurt, but she smiles and nudges him playfully on the shoulder. "The other one, I mean."

Jack gives a whistle and a knowing grin, but the Doctor fixes him with a glare. He wisely keeps his mouth shut.

But Rose had received the message. "I know," she says, grinning at Jack. She turns to the Doctor. "I've got plans for the both of you," she winks at him saucily.

Rassilon, that tongue. He swallows and recites the Fibonacci Sequence backwards from 1597.

"It may take us a while," he says finally, resuming the conversation at its last decent topic. "I have no way of knowing where he will be. It'll be lots of guess-work in the beginning." He sighs. It is the best he can do.

But Rose pulls a familiar yellow button from her pocket and hands it to him. "Here," she says, "use the dimension cannon. We used my TARDIS key to program it. It follows the TARDIS's biological signature." She shrugs. "Can't hop through dimensions anymore, but couldn't you scrap the tech and program the vortex manipulator to seek out the TARDIS?"

He gapes at her, and she smiles sweetly at him. "Get to work, then," she says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Oh, you are brilliant, Miss Tyler," he breathes, kissing her on the forehead.

"It's Doctor," she informs him, staring at him seriously.

"Hmm?"

"It's Doctor Tyler." Now she is grinning at him. "Got my doctorate in theoretical physics."

He hears Jack's delighted, "No kidding!" but he has eyes only for her. He thinks he is probably giving her the awestruck, enamored grin that he wears so often in her presence, but he can't find it in himself to care. He is so proud of her.

"Like I said, brilliant!" He means it. There is no one in the universe like his girl.

He realizes he is still staring at her when she clears her throat. "Doctor."

"Right," he mutters, turning back to the dimension cannon. Work to be done.


	8. Chapter 7

Dex follows the Doctor to the console room, where he is already enthusiastically programming the flight coordinates.

"Where are we going, then?" Dex asks, trying to see what the Doctor is doing to the controls, but he is moving too fast.

"Erbinar system, early 83rd century" he says excitedly, darting around the console. "We'll catch the largest solar flare in the millennia. There's a lovely little planet with an iron core and a high nitrogen atmosphere. Perfect for auroras," he pauses and looks at Dex. "You may want to go to the wardrobe room and find a coat," he says, considering Dex's jeans and thin hoodie, "we are going to be at a high altitude, near the pole, and the extra nitrogen will make the air colder than on Earth."

Dex nods and starts toward the wardrobe.

"Dex?" the Doctor calls, and Dex turns to look at him. He runs his hand through his hair, looking concerned. "It's just... the air will be much thinner than you're used to," he pauses, scratches his neck. "I've already adjusted the TARDIS's atmospheric settings; she's gradually changing the air pressure, so your body will acclimatize. But..." he trails off, unsure of how to explain to Dex without seeming overbearing.

Dex saves him the trouble. "Yeah, make sure I breathe slowly and tell you if I get a headache," he says, shaking his hair out of his eyes and smiling at the Doctor. "I'm familiar with altitude sickness."

"Oh. Right," murmurs the Doctor as Dex runs from the console room in search of a coat. He scratches his neck, feeling a bit stupid. It is easy to forget that Dex, at seven years old, knows far more than most humans.

Dex returns quickly, wearing a brown furry parka. The Doctor laughs. He looks a bit like a bear cub. Dex shoots him a look. The laughing stops, but he is grinning widely and his eyes still sparkle with amusement.

Dex huffs. "Are we ready to go?" he asks as the TARDIS lands with a thunk.

"Five more minutes," replies the Doctor, leaning over the monitor to check the progress of the atmospheric adjustments.

When the exit the TARDIS, Dex gasps. The cold air rushes in, burning its way down into his lungs, and he feels as if he cannot expand his diaphragm all the way. It is a frightening sensation. He stills.

The Doctor squeezes his shoulder. "Alright?" he asks lightly, but his brown eyes are full of concern.

Dex nods, pulling his shirt collar over the bottom half of his face and focusing on breathing slowly trough his nose. After a moment, he grips the Doctor's hand, and they make their way toward a clearing in the trees.

As they pass the tree line - Dex thinks they are coniferous, though they don't look like any species he's ever seen - they are standing near the edge of a high cliff, overlooking an impressive mountain range, peaks blacking out the brilliant glow of the stars.

The Doctor silently removes his coat and spreads it on the flat ground. "Come on," he says, and Dex lays beside him. Looking up into the inky sky, he can barely see the edges of the mountains jutting into his peripheral vision, and the sky is clear and cloudless, a deep black-blue that is dotted with thousands glittering stars. Their light is just bright enough for Dex to make out the features of the Doctor's face beside him. There is no moon. Dex thinks that the stars alone are reason enough to be here.

Looking into the night, Dex feels as if he is falling into the sky, hurtling through the darkness, spinning at breakneck speed. He clings to the Doctors coat. The sensation is beautiful and terrible, and Dex can feel his heart beating frantically in his chest. He breathes deeply and slowly; the terror fades into the background and the dizziness stops, and Dex thinks he would feel lost without it, the turn of this earth.

Suddenly, a brilliant streak of red paints the sky. It slows and spreads, unwinding in a ribbon of swirling light. Dex can still see the glittering stars behind it. It dances and whirls, is gradually joined by other colors, hazy purples and vibrant greens, oranges and blues and pinks and golds. The lights make great curtains in the sky, stretching miles into the atmosphere, swirling gracefully in the solar wind, weaving and fading and glowing and mixing. Dex turns to the Doctor. He is watching enraptured, colors dancing across his face. Dex decides in that moment that if he can't have his mother, there is no one in the universe he'd rather be with. He wiggles closer to him.

The Doctor startles at Dex's sudden movement. It warms his hearts, this amazing little boy who is a snuggled close to him, who would rather see the most beautiful phenomenon in the universe than go to Disney World, who knows about altitude sickness and and astrophysics and heartbreak. The Doctor wraps his arm around him, and in that moment, he is not Rose's son, he is just Dex, and the Doctor loves him for it.

They lay there, never speaking, watching the dance of the universe and breathing in the cold air.


	9. Chapter 8

This time, they land in 1979 Paris. Rose has lost count of how many jumps they've made. They'd been to medieval England, a rocky desert, a strange battle ship that the Doctor seemed keen to leave, Ancient Greece, and the Titanic - the real one, the Doctor tells her, not the flying replica. They'd watched themselves walking hand-in-hand toward the hospital on New Earth, laughing at the chaos that their past selves were about to face, and Rose had nearly run head-long into her first Doctor on Raxacoricofallapatorius. Her Doctor had grabbed her jacket and yanked her behind an oozing yellow plant just as his ninth self had come careening around the corner, followed hotly by a horde of angry Raxacoricofallapatorians. They'd collapsed, faces pressed into each other the stifle the noise of their giggling.

Once, they'd landed in the middle of a London street full of Cybermen. The Doctor had quickly activated the vortex manipulator, and when they materialized at their next location, he wasted no time wrapping her tightly in his arms. He holds her like that until he hears a tight, high pitched sound of matronly disapproval, and he realizes that he's landed them in Her Majesty's private bedchamber. A corgi nips at his heels and he apologizes profusely, but she just winks saucily at him and gestures to the bed before slipping out the door.

The first time Rose had seen her first Doctor, looking down on him from a high wave on Women Wept, she'd wanted to run to him. Her Doctor had pulled her back, explained that even though it wouldn't cause a massive paradox, there was no sense in causing his previous incarnation to have to wipe his memory. He'd assured her that it wouldn't be long before they found the TARDIS in the proper timeline.

That had been over a week ago.

The Doctor decides that Paris is as good a place as any for a break, and Rose agrees. They can't stay long; they have to find the TARDIS, but even with the Doctor controlling the vortex manipulator, the raw power of the vortex is starting to make them ill. Well, the Doctor is ill. Rose seems unaffected, sipping her coffee outside a tiny cafe, while he massages his temples gently. She is kind, tells him that it must be because she'd done so many dimension hops, and he curses his delicate human body and orders a ginger ale.

Slowly, the pounding in his head fades, and he tells Rose the story of when he was here with Romana, about the time loops and the Jagoroth and the Mona Lisa. Rose laughs at his vivid description of Scaroth, a fuzzy one-eyed fish, and rolls her eyes when he explains how he'd saved the human race before it had even begun.

"Come on, Rose Tyler, allons-y!" he says, standing as he sees his fourth self run past the cafe for the third time, ridiculous scarf flying behind him. He is suddenly very glad that Rose has her back to the street.

"Love the scarf," she says, holding back laughter, tongue between her teeth.

He pales. She'd never turned around.

She raises her eyebrows at him, still grinning, and gestures to the window in front of her. "Very reflective," she says, and is overcome with giggles.

"Right then, come on!" He grabs her hand and activates to vortex manipulator before she can say anything else.

The Doctor is sitting in the console room, hanging his feet out of the open door of the TARDIS. She is orbiting Earth. He'd put Dex to bed nearly an hour ago, and had sat here to think.

He'd taken Dex to the late 1890s today. Dex had never ridden a horse, and resisted the Doctor's suggestion of a supervised trail ride, insisting that they do it "properly." At Dex's promise to be careful, he'd landed them in west Texas, against his better judgement.

The day had gone smoothly, for the most part. They'd taken their horses around a well-worn cattle trail, stopping beside a creek to have lunch. It was all very John Wayne. Dex had enjoyed himself, and the Doctor had to admit that it wasn't as miserable as he'd anticipated.

Then Dex's horse saw the rattlesnake.

It bolted, taking Dex with it, was flying across the rocky desert, and the Doctor froze. Dex had handled it very well, gripping the reins expertly in his little hands and pulling with all his might. Eventually, the horse slowed and Dex patted its neck, murmuring soothingly into its ear.

Dex had smiled reassuringly at him, and they'd returned their horses, neither of them mentioning the slight mishap. But the Doctor cannot shake it from his mind, the terror that had gripped him, and the way he frozen, unable to make himself move to help Dex.

It reminds him far too much of Rose and the Dalek.

He leans on his knees, taking in the peaceful silence of space. It's times like these, when all is still and quiet and there is nowhere to run, that he misses her most.

He nearly falls out of the TARDIS when Dex plops down beside him.

"What are you thinking so hard about, that you didn't hear me coming?" asks Dex, leaning his head against the Doctor's shoulder.

The Doctor doesn't answer. "Couldn't sleep?" he asks lightly, giving Dex a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

Dex lets it go. "Nah," he says, swinging his feet. "Kept worrying about you."

"About me?" The Doctor turns to Dex, surprised.

"Yeah," Dex replies, looking at him with serious green eyes. "I know it scared you, today. I know you worry."

The Doctor wraps an arm around Dex's shoulders and squeezes. "Yeah," he says simply, looking out at the Earth that is floating beyond their feet.

Dex nudges him. "I'm okay," he says, smiling softly at the Doctor.

"I know," replies the Doctor, and he means it. Dex could handle himself better than anyone he'd met. He smiles down at him, a small, real smile.

"If it makes you feel better," Dex offers, raising an eyebrow at the Doctor, "I've decided that horses are stupid."

The Doctor laughs. For some reason, it does make him feel better.

They are silent for a long moment.

"When are you going to teach me to fly the TARDIS?" Dex asks suddenly.

"What?" chokes the Doctor. He will do no such thing.

"Makes sense for you to," says Dex, shrugging nonchalantly. "I've seen the way she rattles around, and I know you could use the help. Besides," he adds, grinning innocently at the Doctor, "bet I'd be pretty good at it. She likes me."

The Doctor nearly rolls his eyes. He knows Dex well enough by now to see that he is winding him up. "Not tonight," he says, fixing Dex with a good look. "Tonight, you are going to get some sleep."

Dex laughs. "Tomorrow, then!" he says as he scrambles up from his seat in the TARDIS doorway.

"I didn't promise that!" calls the Doctor. He is already planning a distraction.

Little arms wrap around his shoulders, and he realizes belatedly that Dex is hugging him. "G'nignt, Doctor," he says cheerfully, pulling away and darting from the console room before the Doctor can react.


	10. Chapter 9

Dex is sitting at the kitchen table, tinkering happily with his latest project. His brow is furrowed in concentration and his tongue is pressed to the roof of his mouth.

He is building his own sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor smiles at the sight. After they'd been imprisoned last week for sacrilege on Rommevolvia - how were they supposed to know that giggling outdoors defied the holy writ of the goddess Myolda? - Dex had expressed interest in his own sonic, the Doctor had been delighted, offering to build it himself.

Dex had scowled. "What's the point of my own sonic if it isn't mine?" And that had been the end of that.

"How's it coming?" The Doctor pulls out his specs and leans over Dex's shoulder to get a better look. He notices a wire out of place and nearly comments on it, holding his tongue at the last second. Dex is nothing if not stubborn. He will figure it out soon enough.

Dex hums, never looking up from his work.

Oh, is that how it is? Abandoned for a sonic screwdriver. He shakes his head as he sticks his finger into the jar of marmalade that is sitting on the table. Just like his mother, that one.

"Got it!" Dex shouts, proudly holding up the sonic. His face lights up and his eyes are huge and shining.

The Doctor grins at him. "Well lets see, then," he says, holding the marmalade jar in one hand and licking his fingers.

Dex presses the button and the sonic emits a sputtering, high pitched whine.

The Doctor's jar of marmalade explodes.

Dex is in the console room when the Doctor returns from his shower. He looks at the Doctor sheepishly. "I think I fixed it," he says, holding his sonic toward the Doctor as a peace offering.

"Right," says the Doctor, "but lets test it outside." Adorable as Dex is, the Doctor does not fancy being on the wrong end of another of his experiments. He still hasn't forgotten the toaster incident. "I don't need you resonating the TARDIS controls."

"Can I fly her today?" Dex asks eagerly, eyes shining. He shoves his sonic into his pocket, long forgotten.

The Doctor closes his eyes. He'd kept Dex's mind off of the TARDIS for two weeks, and now, he's gone and brought it up. Idiot. "No," he shakes his head.

Dex's face falls, and the Doctor feels a twinge of guilt. "I'll teach you how to program flight coordinates." The words are out of his mouth before he can analyze them, but the expression of joy on Dex's face is worth the compromise.

They spend the next two hours in the console room. Dex is watching the Doctor intently, and the Doctor pauses his lecture now and again to quiz Dex. Even after all this time, Dex never fails to amaze him; he asks intelligent questions and almost never has to have a concept repeated. Finally, the Doctor steps back.

"Okay," he says, turning his back to the console. "Program a flight to London, November 23, 1963."

"What's so special about that date?" Dex asks, shrugging out of his hoodie. He's not nervous, not at all, it's just hot in the console room. The Doctor can hear him methodically flipping switches and pulling levers.

"Not a thing," the Doctor answers. "Just picked it at random."

Dex hums in answer, still flipping switches. "Alright," he says after another second or so.

"Finished?" asks the Doctor, turning around to face Dex. That had been quick.

"Yup!" says Dex, smugly. He is grinning.

The Doctor looks over his shoulder at the view screen. The flight path is perfect. "Molto bene!" he says, squeezing Dex's shoulder proudly.

"Can I pick the coordinates this time?" Dex looks hopefully at the Doctor.

Rassilon, he cannot resist those big green eyes. "Lets just see where you take us," he says after a pause.

Dex closes his eyes and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, concentrating on mental calculations. He programs the flight quickly, and the Doctor starts the materialization sequence. They land smoothly.

The Doctor is staring at the view screen. "I don't recognize this planet, Dex," he says slowly, looking at the coordinates that Dex had picked.

Dex has already swung open the door. "Look," he says, poking his head out of the TARDIS. They are in a city. The streets are paved with small, smooth stones, all black or grey or brilliant blue. The buildings are made of the same stone, but cut into larger bricks. They are older and weathered, and the overall effect is both countryside cottage and royal court. Dex thinks it's the coolest city he's ever seen.

The Doctor is not convinced. "Come inside, we aren't staying." He is already moving toward the console to initiate the dematerialization sequence.

"But how are we gonna learn anything when we only go to places you've been to?" Dex asks.

He's got a point, the Doctor supposes. A colonized planet that he's never heard of is a rarity.

"We'll be careful," Dex says, judiciously using the Doctor's favorite catchphrase. He can see him weakening.

"Dex," drawls the Doctor. They should really, really go.

"Ten minutes," says Dex. He knows he has already won the battle.

"Five minutes," says the Doctor firmly, "and no wandering off."

Dex smiles at him and grips his hand, and together, they leave the TARDIS.

The city is deserted. The Doctor wonders why. He is feeling uneasy, whether because of the emptiness of the streets or something else, he cannot say. Dex is gripping his hand tightly, but otherwise seems unconcerned.

The Doctor is about to suggest that they return to the TARDIS when they come to what appears to be the town square. In the center is a gleaming white fountain with seven tiers. Behind it sits a blue dome, by far the largest building they've seen yet. The square is still and eerily silent, gentle rush of the fountain the only sound.

"Dex," says the Doctor quietly. He is reluctant to break the silence, but they need to leave. Now.

They are suddenly surrounded by a group of large men wearing black hoods. The Doctor hadn't noticed them. They circle Dex and the Doctor, holding out small silver cylinders menacingly. The Doctor catches Dex's eye, and they both raise their hands obligingly above their heads. One of the guards moves forward and digs his weapon deeply in the Doctor's back.

The Doctor has excuses for over 16 different crimes fleeting through his mind at any given moment. Normally, he'd be rattling off a story, flashing his psychic paper, and they'd be off. But this time, he is silent, waiting. He is acutely aware of Dex breathing calmly beside him. He cannot afford to get it wrong, not this time.

The guard prods him forward, and they move slowly, silently into the large domed building. The Doctor keeps stealing glances at Dex. Dex meets his eyes each time, his gaze calm and alert and intelligent. The Doctor can see the wheels turning in his mind, taking in his environment, calculating, strategizing, and he sighs softly with relief. If Dex is still thinking, he is okay.

The are lead down a long dark hallway. The air is warm and damp, and the guards' heavy booted footsteps echo eerily. They are tossed into a cave-like prison cell, cold stone floor completely bare. The guards motion for the Doctor to remove his suit jacket, and they frisk them both. The Doctor's jacket is not returned. The bars slam down with a reverberating clang, and the echoing footsteps retreat down the corridor, and they are alone in the blackness.

The Doctor reaches for Dex, groping helplessly in the dark. " Dex?" he whispers, voice hissing loudly against the heavy silence.

"M'right here," Dex says, cheerful despite the dark. The Doctor feels little arms wrap around his waist, and the he reaches down and picks Dex up, pulling him into a tight embrace. Dex settles into the crook of his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the Doctor's uncharacteristic display.

"Dex, I'm sorry," whispers the Doctor, "I'm so sorry."

Dex rolls his eyes, though the Doctor cannot see. "S'not your fault," he says practically. "I made you come."

"You're my responsibility," grates the Doctor. He isn't sure why he is so affected; he's been in far worse situations dozens of times before.

Dex huffs at him. "And I'm right here," he says firmly. He knows that at nearly eight years old, he should be responsible for himself, but the Doctor doesn't see it that way. He thinks he's responsible for the whole universe. Dex can't imagine that burden, justified or not.

"Right," murmurs the Doctor, slowly setting Dex down. He tells himself to get a grip. Dex squeezes his hand, and the Doctor is grateful.

"Right, then! Assets!" says the Doctor, trying to make his voice light. Dex knows better.

"No sonic, no psychic paper, no information on why we're being held," Dex rattles off. He'd been keeping a mental inventory.

"You don't have your sonic?" the Doctor asks. A half-finished sonic is better than no sonic at all.

"Nope," Dex says wistfully, shaking his head. "Left my hoodie on the TARDIS."

The Doctor empties his pockets. He has a banana, a wind-up mouse, a 23rd century circuit board, and The Complete Works of Charles Dickens, first edition. "I've got nothing," he sighs at Dex. He is beginning to reconsider his strategy of keeping his important things in his suit jacket.

Dex squeezes his hand. "Did you have a chance to see the back of the cave?" he asks.

"No," says the Doctor, encouraged by Dex's line of thought.

They've made their way halfway around the perimeter of the cave, hand-in-hand, when suddenly, the whole cell and the hallway are flooded with a blinding light. Dex and the Doctor blink frantically, the sudden brightness painful to their unadjusted eyes. The Doctor can hear the faint buzz of long-unused incandescent bulbs. When he can open his eyes fully, he sees a small man in white robes standing outside their cell between two guards. The Doctor hadn't heard them approach.

The man steps forward and unlocks the cell. He is old, with white hair and a well-kept beard. His eyes are a very light shade of hazel; they shine sickly yellow in the strange lighting of the cave. He holds in his left hand an intricately carved white cane with a luminous blue stone at the handle. He extends his right to the Doctor.

"Please forgive their treatment of you," he says in a soft, musical tone. Dex wrinkles his nose. "We are unaccustomed to visitors in Karphelox, and I'm afraid my guards have forgotten their manners. Their behavior, of course, is inexcusable."

Dex subtly shifts his weight, and the Doctor catches his pointed glance out of the corner of his eye. Good. Dex is not buying it.

The Doctor decides to play nice. He smiles pleasantly. "It's quite alright," he says. Normally, he would give some snarky reply and a veiled threat. Normally, he would want to investigate the empty city that imprisons its citizens just for walking outside. Normally, he would uncover what was wrong, fix it, and be sauntering back to the TARDIS in time for lunch. Even now, he can feel the simmering curiosity, thinks in the back of his mind that he will return while Dex is asleep. But now, right now, the most important thing in the universe is standing right beside him, leaned casually against the wall of the cave. The Doctor feels a chill of fear shimmer down his spine. He does not like the way the man in the robes in looking at Dex. "An honest mistake, I'm sure."

He takes the proffered hand. The skin is wrinkled and mottled, cool and dry, but the grip is surprisingly strong. It feels so wrong, such strength from the frail little man, that the Doctor reflexively reaches out to the man's mind. He meets a steel wall. Oh, that's not right; no human should be shielded like that. He withdraws quickly, and the little man gives him a cold, tight-lipped smile.

"I'm Eleazar," he says, releasing the Doctor's hand. "Patriarch of Karphelox."

"John Smith," replies the Doctor automatically. He pauses, then adds as an afterthought, "Traveller."

Eleazar extends his arms graciously. "Come with me," he says softly, gliding gracefully out of the cell and into the passageway. "Lets have a chat." His gaze drifts fleetingly to Dex, and the Doctor feels another cold spike of fear twist between his hearts. He catches a gleam of silver in a guard's gloved hand, and reluctantly follows Eleazar out of the cell.

The Doctor can sense Dex burning with questions as they follow Eleazar through the musty corridors. He knows that Dex is expecting him to stage a daring escape, and he suddenly regrets telling him all the stories of his adventures. He can see that Dex does not understand his caution.

As they walk, Eleazar explains Karphelox's history as a mining provence, the economic boom that came with the discovery of alcanite, the shining blue stone that the capitol city is constructed of. Eleazar tells of the uprising that resulted from a shaky political transfer, the ensuing war that had raged for nearly 25 years, and the new age of peace that had settled over Karphelox. "The war had been over for 13 years now," he says, melodious voice full of pride for his home, "and Karphelox has never been stronger!"

"You must be very proud of the progress you've achieved," says the Doctor diplomatically. As if that much isn't obvious.

"Yes," says Eleazar as a hidden panel in the wall slides back to reveal a large, inviting office. It is furnished with an expensive wooden desk and plush leather seats. If not for the hooded guards behind him, Dex would have thought he was in the Vitex corporate building. It seems very out of place in the damp, cave-like labyrinth from which they'd come.

Eleazar settles behind the desk. "Please sit down," he says politely, extending his arms toward the leather chairs. Dex and the Doctor sit obediently. Eleazar leans slightly forward. "Now, we will discuss compensation."

The Doctor leans forward as well. "Compensation?" He's not sure what he is being compensated for, or if he will be doing the compensating.

"Of course, you will name your price," says Eleazar, settling back in his chair, "as is customary." He pours a drink from a pitcher on his desk and offers it to the Doctor.

"I'm sorry, price for what?" asks the Doctor, brow furrowed, ignoring the proffered cup.

Eleazar shrugs and brings the cup the his lips. "For the child, of course," he says, sipping delicately.

"What?" chokes the Doctor. He glances at Dex, who looks a little pale, and then glares at Eleazar. "He's not-"

But Eleazar cuts him off. "Of course, he will be housed in our finest facilities," he says grandly. "All of the children are treated with the utmost respect. I can arrange a tour, if you like. Some of our more ethically-inclined suppliers insist." He folds his hands delicately on the table.

The Doctor leans forward, face thunderous, glare fixed on Eleazar. "He is not for sale," he says, voice low and dangerously soft.

Dex watches wide-eyed. He thinks he will be more careful with his sonic screwdriver experiments in the future.

Eleazar is unruffled. "Why are you here," he asks patiently, "if not to sell the child?"

The Doctor stands abruptly. "We're just passing through." he says, gripping Dex's shoulder. Dex slides out of the leather chair.

"We don't have visitors," says Eleazar. There is a cold edge in his yellow eyes.

"Coming here was a mistake," says the Doctor earnestly. He is desperate to get Dex off this planet.

Eleazar's face hardens slightly, though his voice remains warm and soft. "I see," he says, standing. "I'll have my men escort you outside. You can be on your way."

The Doctor nods curtly. He grips Dex's hand tightly and makes his way to the door.

"Oh, Doctor?" Eleazar calls softy. The Doctor turns slowly, eyes burning.

Eleazar is gripping his cane, hand over hand, leaning heavily forward. "Strange," he murmurs, "how attached you seem to be to a child that is not even of your species." He furrows his brow as if concerned, but his eyes glitter viciously.

This time, it is terror that bolts down his spine. It is sudden and electric, and it burrows deep into his hearts and settles there, cold and deadly. He whirls abruptly, dragging Dex down the hallway with him, hoping to give the impression that the speed of his departure is a result of anger, not the fear that has suddenly possessed him. His only thought is to keep Dex safe.

By the time they reach daylight, Dex is nearly running to keep up with the Doctor. The Doctor does not slow. He grips Dex's hand tightly, knows that he is probably hurting him, but Dex doesn't react, and the Doctor cannot bring himself to loosen his hold. He will not let to of Dex until they are in the vortex.

"Doctor," says Dex as they round a corner, domed building disappearing from view.

He does not answer, will not answer, until they reach the TARDIS.

"Doctor," Dex says again, more insistent now, and the fear speaks for him.

"Not now," he hisses sharply. He thinks they are being followed. He shoots Dex a glare, intending to intimidate him into silence.

Dex plants his feet. "You need to-"

"All I need," the Doctor spits, bending low and gripping Dex's shoulders harder than he intends,"is for you to get to the TARDIS."

Dex does not move, does not flinch, just gazes at him stoically, but the Doctor can see the hurt in his eyes. Guilt gnaws at him. He wants to teach Dex to fly the TARDIS, wants to wrap him up and tell him he's sorry, so sorry, for so many things, wants to go back to that night two weeks ago and return his hug.

But the fear will not release him.

"Dex, please," he begs, eyes dark with desperation. The guilt and the fear are at war, threaten to tear him apart, and he needs Dex to move, to come to the TARDIS, needs to protect him, needs to know that he is safe.

Dex is very still, looking at the Doctor with luminous green eyes. "He called you Doctor," he whispers.

Something cold and numb shatters in the Doctor's mind, and he realizes. The fear does not fade, not at all, but the Doctor has a sudden sense of falling back into himself. With the sensation comes the fury.

He knows what just happened.

He hears Dex's shout just as the burning starts in the back of his neck. It is instantaneous agony, a raging inferno blazing across his body. The Doctor sees a swirl of black robes as he falls to the ground. His last thought is that he can hear Dex screaming his name.


	11. Chapter 10

The Doctor blinks and shifts, shaking himself awake. The first thing he notices is the intense pounding in his head, throbbing with each beat of his hearts.

"Ah, I'm pleased that you've decided to join us, Doctor. I was beginning to worry."

He sits abruptly. He recognizes that musical, sickening voice.

Eleazar is sitting comfortably in a large leather chair. He smiles warmly at the Doctor.

A torrent of memories floods him, and he leaps to his feet, eyes murderous, face contorted in rage. "Where is he?" he snarls.

Eleazar only smiles, and the Doctor thinks that he'd like nothing more than to tear this man limb from limb. He starts toward him, and is immediately knocked back by an invisible force that sends him reeling. He stumbles, nearly falling backwards before he can right himself.

Eleazar tuts at him. "Now then, Doctor, lets be civil. I only want to discuss my latest acquisition." His yellow eyes sparkle with amusement.

The Doctor nearly collapses. He'd been desperately holding on to the hope that Dex had managed to escape. "What have you done with him?" His voice is low and hard.

Eleazar shakes his head in a display of disappointment. "I have done nothing," he says to the Doctor, eyes glittering coldly. "Yet."

The rage burns out, leaving a hollow shell of emptiness and despair and fear. The Doctor has never felt so helpless. He thinks of Dex, remembers the way his eyes shone when he'd been allowed to program the TARDIS, remembers the way Dex would squeeze his hand when he was overcome with grief, remembers the goodnight hug and the late nights in the study and the banana pancakes. He remembers the last time he'd seen Dex, his green eyes wide and full of hurt. "Eleazar, please," he pleads, voice rough and broken. He has never been so sincere in all his lives. "Please, he's just a child!"

Eleazar's eyes glitter. "Is he, though?" he asks softly, piercing the Doctor with his gaze. "Tell me Doctor, why are you so attached to him?"

Oh, but that was the question. The Doctor cannot even begin to describe the depth of his devotion to Dex, far beyond attachment. He fumbles with it, the question, memories and emotions drowning him. There is nothing adequate to define it, the words are too feeble, too predictable. The answer comes to him, and he struggles with it, old fears and doubts surfacing, but the truth of it cannot be denied. "I love him," he says, simply.

Eleazar pauses at that, clearly surprised at the Doctor's answer. He recovers quickly, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Do not insult my intelligence, Doctor. What does the last of the Time Lords know of love?"

The Doctor feels his face harden into a stone mask. He does not honor this with a response.

Eleazar waits patiently. When he realizes he will not get an answer, he leans forward, eyes sharp and probing. "What have you done to his mind?" he asks softly.

"What?" The Doctor realizes that he's spoken the thought aloud. He isn't sure what Eleazar means.

"Your hiding him, his telepathic abilities. Why?" Eleazar stands, moves slowly, purposefully toward the Doctor.

"He's human," says the Doctor, brow furrowed. "He has no telepathic abilities." He knows, had checked. The only telepathy Dex had displayed was hearing the song of the TARDIS, and that was her doing, not his.

Eleazar shakes his head sadly. "Doctor, it will be much easier for the child if you cooperate. I have other methods of extracting the information."

No. No, no, no. He will not touch Dex. The Doctor moves unconsciously forward, is knocked back again. "Eleazar, I swear, I've done nothing. If it's a telepath you want, take me. Let him go."

Eleazar smiles sardonically. "Oh, Doctor, if only I could." He sighs wistfully. "Even if you were truly willing, you have too many defenses to be of use. Even with physical contact I was only allowed access to the surface of your thoughts."

The Doctor remembers the handshake, the barriers around Eleazar's mind, the small, tight- lipped smile, the all- consuming fear that had possessed him. Eleazar had called him Doctor, knew his history, had preyed on his fear for Dex, enhancing it, blocking everything else out. He angry, furious, but not shocked. It only confirmed his suspicions.

Eleazar continues, "but a child..." He smiles viciously. "A child's mind is so open, so pliable." He pauses, looks hard at the Doctor. "I can only imagine what treasures must be guarded so closely."

The Doctor pulls furiously at his hair. He is desperate now, pacing the length of his invisible prison. "He is just a normal little boy!" he shouts, shaking with rage.

Eleazar makes a great show of shaking his head and pinching his brow. "Oh, Doctor, I am so sorry," he sighs. "To carry the burden of this child's fate on your conscience, your own doing. How can you live with yourself?"

The words are well-chosen. They pierce him, boring into his hearts, and he nearly staggers back. He knows, in that moment, that if anything happens to Dex, he won't be able to live with himself. He had tempted the universe, made a promise that he could never keep, played russian roulette with a life that was not his own, doomed a child. Her child. He doesn't bother cursing the vicious irony. They'd come full circle. He'd failed.

Eleazar sees the words hit home. He revels in the small victory, glides toward the door.

"Eleazar."

Eleazar turns obligingly. He is startled to see the intensity burning in the Doctor's eyes. He thought he'd broken him.

"If you touch him, you will die."

The words are uttered with such conviction, such rage, that for a moment Eleazar feels an icy tendril of fear wrap around his heart. He quickly shakes it off, laughing quietly. The empty threat of a helpless man.

He shuts the door and the lights flicker off, leaving the Doctor alone in the darkness.

Dex wakes in a bright white room. He sits up slowly, heart pounding in his chest. The room is large. Harsh lights shine in his eyes. He blinks. The room is cold and sterile, empty except for a large cabinet.

Dex realizes that he is sitting on a steel exam table.

He quickly slides to the floor, words like vivisection and autopsy and lobotomy running through his mind. He shakes away the unpleasant images and walks slowly toward the large cabinet. He tugs on the handle. Locked.

He isn't disappointed, hadn't expected anything different. He runs his hand along the white walls, tapping intermittently, trying to gauge the layout of the building he is in.

The walls are solid all the way around. Dex suspects that he is in a steel-enforced bunker of some sort.

The thought is not comforting.

After a scrupulous inspection of the walls, Dex finally finds the tiny, well-disguised crack that indicates the door. He thinks it may be a panel that slides into the ceiling, though he cannot be sure. It is steel enforced, too. Dex shrugs. Seems they aren't taking any chances.

He doesn't mind. He likes a challenge.

Dex scours the ceiling for any sign of surveillance. He knows he is being watched, but he will feel much better if he can discover the camera. There is nothing visible on the ceiling.

Dex clambers onto the exam table and stands shakily, trying to get a good view of the light fixture above it. It is difficult; his legs are trembling and the light blares into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He stares into it, allows his pupils time to adjust, slowly watching the spots fade. He blinks and reaches up with his hands, standing on tiptoe, stretching his entire body, and runs his fingers along the edge of the light.

It is hot, scorching the pads of his fingers, but Dex steels himself and continues his search.

There. He feels it, a tiny nodule on the far edge of the light fixture. He grits his teeth against the pain and picks it up, twists it in the opposite direction. Finally.

He sighs and nearly collapses, settling on the exam table with a clatter. If the movement of the camera doesn't summon them, his racket will.

Dex slides off of the exam table and sits with his back to the wall, next to the door. He sticks his blistered fingers in his mouth. They hurt.

It will be worth it, he thinks, if they come for him.


	12. Chapter 11

Dex leans against the white wall, knees drawn up, body tense.

It had been 16 minutes since he'd moved the camera.

Dex had hoped that somebody would have come by now. He has a plan.

He needs to get to the Doctor.

He'd moved the camera for two reasons. First, in hopes that the disturbance would attract someone to come reposition it. Second, he'd attempted to shift it so that the guards could not see his location by the door. It was a long shot, but certainly worth a try.

Dex is small. He knows that lots of people, even the Doctor, underestimate him because of his size and his age.

Their mistake.

Dex also knows that it is unlikely that more than one guard will be sent to reposition his camera. The guards know that a seven year old doesn't stand a chance of fighting off a large man. Dex knows it, too. Besides, fighting isn't his style.

Dex plans to stay low. If the door raises into the ceiling, and oh, he hopes it does, Dex will be able to see the position of the guard's feet long before the guard can see him. If he can roll under the door quickly enough, he is home free, on his way to rescue the Doctor.

Of course, all of this is for naught if nobody ever comes.

Dex sighs. He considers making a racket, but nixes the idea almost immediately. He doesn't want them to catch onto his plan. Besides, it's just as likely that the room is sound-proofed. Dex shakes his head- not a comforting though.

Another seven minutes pass before Dex feels a slight vibration at his back. This is it.

He lays flat on the floor, parallel to the wall, muscles coiled tightly.

The panel slides up much faster than he'd anticipated.

Feet on either side. Dex rolls left, springing as hard as he can, planning to barrel into the guard and, hopefully, knock him over.

Left is good. He leaps into Eleazar's knees, feels him buckle, scrambles to his feet and bolts, flying down the musty corridor, legs pumping and heart pounding, urged faster by fear and adrenaline. He rounds a corner, can hear shouts behind him, heavy footsteps echoing loudly against the walls. He comes to a fork in the passage and automatically chooses left, hoping his luck will hold.

It doesn't. Three hooded guards wait for him, silver cylinders extended. He scrambles, tries to turn, but his feet slide on some loose rock, and crashes hard on the ground, ripping his jeans and scraping the skin off his thigh.

He scrambles backward as a guard approaches him, hears a sharp click from the cylinder he carries, then he is burning.

Dex wakes with his hands tied behind his back. He stands slowly, taking in his surroundings. He is in a proper cave now, he realizes. The air is damp and earthy, and the cave is dark. He can barely see the the occasional stalactite dangling from the roof, can hear the occasional drip, drip of water as it trickles to the floor below. It appears that the ground has been leveled; Dex cannot see any stalagmites. He can feel that the cave is large and open, can hear the faint rush of water, beneath his feet, he thinks.

An artificial light in the ceiling flickers on, casting strange shadows on the walls. Dex sees that there is a hooded guard on either side of him. Eleazar is standing in front of him, leaning heavily on his cane.

"My child," he says, extending a hand and moving toward Dex. Dex is pleased to see that he is limping. "Welcome to the true Karphelox!" He sweeps his hand around the perimeter of the cave.

Dex follows with his gaze, notices that the walls have been cut into crude benches. Overshadowing the benches are great overhangs, jutting out of the cliff-face above him. Dex realizes that he is in the center of a primitive amphitheater.

Dex shrugs. He'd been more impressed by the city.

Eleazar continues, leaning down and speaking slowly. "I need your help, Dex. The war has damaged us, and we need young minds like yours to set things to rights."

One thing that Dex cannot stand is being patronized. He will be spoken to like an adult, thanks very much. "What do you want with me?" he asks, voice cold, eyes hard and guarded.

Eleazar laughs. "Oh, but you are a gem!" he says excitedly.

Dex scowls. "I can do without the theatrics, thanks."

Eleazar nods sagely. Dex gets the feeling that he is being mocked.

The thought infuriates him.

"What have you done to the Doctor?" he spits, leaning forward. He realizes that his hands are secured to the wall.

Eleazar gazes at him with pity in his eyes. "He's left you with me, Dex," he says softly.

Dex rolls his eyes. "Don't waste your time," he snarls. "What have you done with him?"

"Dex," says Eleazar gently, "I made him a very good offer. He couldn't refuse."

Dex shoots him a withering glare. Obviously, this man knows nothing of the Doctor. "He wouldn't," he says calmly. It is a fact, like the Earth orbits the sun or bananas are good. The Doctor would never leave him.

"Dex, I know it's difficult to accept," says Eleazar, laying a hand on his shoulder. Dex instinctively jerks away, and Eleazar frowns. He continues, "but the Doctor didn't need you. He was waiting to be rid of you, don't you see?"

It is obvious that Eleazar wants Dex to believe it, for whatever reason, so Dex decides to play along. The longer they argue, the longer this man has the Doctor, and that, Dex decides, is just not acceptable.

He bites his lower lip and makes his eyes large and wet, recalling memories of his mum. He wants to sell it.

Eleazar smiles. "But Dex," he says softly, "I need you." Dex looks up at him with big eyes full of hope. This time, when Eleazar rests a hand on his shoulder, Dex lets him, swallowing down a shudder.

Eleazar frowns again, just slightly. He can pick up nothing from this child. The fury simmers in him, but he schools his face into a gentle smile. It will all be worth it. "Can we be friends, Dex? Can we work together?"

Dex nods slowly.

"Good." Eleazar smiles. "Now, can you tell me what the Doctor did to your mind?"

Dex furrows his brow. What?

Eleazar looks at him seriously. "Dex, it is very important for me to know. Did the Doctor ever go into your mind?"

Dex shakes his head. He doesn't understand what Eleazar is on about.

Eleazar furrows his brow. "Dex, do you know that you're telepathic?"

Dex gives him a blank look. "No, I'm not. I'm human. Humans aren't telepathic," he says, remembering his conversation in the galley with the Doctor.

Eleazar takes his hand. "Some humans are," he says. "I think you might be." He pauses. "There is something hidden about you."

Dex shrugs. He remembers the kind woman he'd met during his first dimension jump. 'I made it so that nobody can find you.' He wonders.

"What does it matter, anyway?"

Eleazar ignores his question. "Dex, if you'll trust me, we can discover the truth together," he says. Dex realizes with horror that Eleazar is reaching for his head.

No, no. He struggles, pulls against his bonds. He does not want this man in his mind. Cool, strong hands press into his temples, and Dex can feel something sharp and cold sliding around the perimeter of his consciousness, prodding, digging, piercing, crushing its way inside.

The rope holding him snaps, and he reacts, shoving Eleazar to the ground in a panic. The guard to his right grabs him, spins him around, and Dex sees warm brown eyes meet his own. "Run!" the guard hisses, shoving him harshly to the right, away from the ensuing chaos.

He sprints like mad, can once again hear the heavy thump of booted footsteps behind him. He hopes his rescuer is okay, doesn't dare look back to check.

He comes abruptly to a cliff. He skids, sliding to a stop just in time, and glances over the edge. It is probably a 60 foot drop. He can hear the rushing below, sees the reflection of the lights rippling on the inky water, knows he has no choice but to jump.

The Doctor can see it all on the grainy video feed that is playing on a small screen in front of him. Eleazar had forced him to watch.

He sees Dex stop, steel himself, and he knows what Dex is going to do.

Dex turns, very young and very small, and the Doctor can see his fear. Then Dex's eyes find the camera, somehow, and suddenly Dex is looking at him, gazing right into his soul, and the Doctor cannot breathe.

Dex takes a deep breath and jumps.


	13. Chapter 12

Eleazar hobbles to the edge of the rock face, furious. One of his men had betrayed him, cutting the boy free and disappearing into the chaos, and the stupid child had gone and launched himself off a cliff.

He peers over the edge. He can see the swirling dark water, hear it churning below, but there is no child.

No matter.

He turns to his guards, who are staring into the chasm blankly.

Idiots. "He will come up for air," Eleazar sniffs. "When he does, incapacitate him."

The guards nod, and Eleazar retreats limping to his office.

He crashes into the water with a brutal slap, feet first, the sound sharp and jarring, like a gunshot. It echoes through his bones, the sickening crack of his impact, the noise and the pain reverberating through his body in indistinguishable waves of agony. He feels the sting of the water on his skin, the shearing twinge of connective tissues in his legs tearing, the deep crushing of his diaphragm as all the air is knocked out of his lungs.

He gasps, and the icy water welcomes him, drags him down and swallows him whole. Time stretches, and the cold seeps into him, into his ears and nose, and he is nearly numb with it, save for the deep ache in his chest. The current pulls at him, contorts him, and he tumbles down. He opens his eyes, but there is nothing for him to see, just the swirling blackness of the water. He tries to orient himself, to straighten his body, but the current and the pain fight against him, and he cannot. He does not even know where the surface is.

Panic seizes him. He can feel the burn in his lungs, knows he cannot hold his breath forever. He stretches, reaching, elongating his body, pulls with his shoulders and kicks, swimming as hard as he can. His legs will not cooperate. He thinks he will burst, his chest is on fire now. He releases the air in his lungs; it bubbles, ticking his face as it swirls and rises to the surface. Now he is just empty.

He is going to die.

The knowledge hits him, and the panic fades. It is just reality, another fact. He is cold and numb and empty, and he is going to die here, cold and numb and empty.

He stops struggling, lets the water take him. It is strangely peaceful.

The Doctor holds his breath. Dex has been under for 90 seconds now. He cannot see the surface of the water from the camera angle, but the guards are still and silent, watching, waiting.

His lungs burn, but he holds off his respiratory bypass. He does not allow himself to imagine what is happening to Dex.

100 seconds.

110. The fire in his lungs is nearly unbearable, but he holds on.

120.

At 128 seconds, his bypass system takes over automatically. The fire fades, and he sinks to the floor and curls into a ball, numb.

There is a knock at the door of his office. Eleazar glances up from the book he is reading. "You may enter."

The door slides open, and a guard steps forward, tentatively. He slowly removes his hood and stands before Eleazar, eyes on the floor.

"Yes?"

The guard clears his throat. "Sir." He pauses, does not look Eleazar in the eye. He tries again, "The boy, sir. He never surfaced."

Eleazar hums, never turning away from his book. "Pity," he sighs.

The guard bows and slips out of his office.

A shrill beeping jars him out of his peaceful sleep. He groans and rolls over. He'd been having such a nice dream.

Rose is sitting up, feet swung off the edge of the bed. She silences the alarm on her watch and sighs softly.

He scoots toward her, propping his head on one arm and wrapping the other around her waist. He looks up at her, bleary-eyed. "What is it?" he croaks.

She smiles softly, but he can see the tears in her eyes. He is instantly awake. He sits up quickly and pulls her to him. She lets her head fall into his chest. "S'just an alarm," she says quietly.

He gently runs a hand up and down her shoulder. He knows her better than that. "An alarm for what?"

She sighs into him. "When I was looking for you, I set this watch to run on Earth-time. My Earth. I didn't want to lose track of how long I'd been gone." She pauses, takes a shuddering breath, and continues quietly. "Today is his birthday."

He doesn't speak, just wraps her tightly in his arms and holds her, lips pressed into her hair.

Dex is floating peacefully. He is still vaguely aware of his body, can still feel the cold and the burn and the ache, but is somehow above it all, detached. He can feel his consciousness flickering, his brain blinking out, and he welcomes it.

Suddenly, like the flipping of a switch, he is alert. The ache in his chest fades and the overwhelming urge to breathe is gone. Adrenaline burns through his body, and he reacts, swimming with all his strength, ignoring the screaming pain of his legs. He does not stop to ponder the miracle, cannot even begin to comprehend what is happening, he just swims, desperately. The water is calmer now, and he feels as though he is rushing to the surface.

His head thumps something solid, and he realizes that he is trapped beneath the rocky floor of the cave. The panic threatens to consume him again, but he holds it back, reaching out with his arms. Rock on either side. He must be in an underwater tunnel. He swims forward frantically. His muscles are burning.

An eternity passes. There is only the blackness, only the swirling water and the sharp rock pressing down on each side of him. He knows instinctively that his miracle will not last much longer.

He thinks he can see a patch of light.

He makes for it, pushing desperately against the water.

He shoots through a narrow crack in the ceiling of the tunnel. The blackness fades, and now he is in open water, can see the sparkle of light as it reflects on the surface.

He reaches for it, kicking with all his might. His body is on fire.

His head breaks the surface, and, oh, he can breathe! He floats on his back, panting, reveling in the sweet ache of the cold air as it rushes into his compressed lungs. Nothing has ever felt so good.

He lies there, staring at the ceiling, unthinking, just breathing, floating in the center of a large, calm lake. He is in another open chamber, though he thinks that this one may be closer to the surface. Jagged cracks in the ceiling allow some light to filter through.

The burn in his muscles begins to fade, and the pain of his injuries hits him. He needs to get to the shore. He flops over and tries to swim, but the adrenaline is gone, and his left leg won't cooperate. He pulls with his arms, slowly moving forward until his hands hit the bottom.

He tries to stand, but a stabbing pain shoots up his leg and he falls over. He crawls, dragging himself out of the water, and collapses onto the bank.


	14. Chapter 13

He does not know how long he's lain here, curled pitifully onto the cold floor. It could have been hours, it could have been days. He has not eaten or drank or slept. The memory is right there, knowledge floating on the edge of his consciousness, and if he moves, it will flood in, filling his mind and consuming his thoughts, and he will break.

He knows it will happen.

But now, right now, he is numb. He revels in it, the numbness, the cold and empty ache in his chest, the barely-there twinge of his hearts every time he breathes too deeply. His skin crawls with it, or maybe that's just a lack of circulation.

It doesn't matter.

Dex is jostled awake, rough movements jarring his tender flesh. Everything hurts. It is dizzying, the pain, and all he wants it to go back to sleep and never wake up. He groans.

A low rumble vibrates through him, and he hears the intermittent murmur of voices and feels the steady thunk of footsteps jarring his body.

He is being carried.

He twists, fights, instinct overtaking him, but the pain is pulling him under, and his struggle is not very effective.

"Shh," and he feels the strange vibrations again, realizes he is being held against somebody's chest. Warm arms engulf him, and notices that he is shivering.

"It's okay," murmurs the voice. He feels a cool hand on his forehead, and he is suddenly reminded of being a tiny child, wrapped in his mother's arms, soothed to sleep.

The voice continues. Dex thinks it is a nice voice, "Go back to sleep," it sighs. " I've got you."

He relaxes and lets the blackness take him.

"Doctor."

Someone is calling his name. He doesn't respond. It doesn't matter.

"Doctor." The soft, musical quality of the voice strikes something in him, and he shivers, clinging desperately to the numbness.

"I have information on the child."

The illusions shatters, and the Doctor sits up slowly.

Eleazar is seated in front of him, leaned close, eyes gleaming. "There, that's better," he says, voice warm and comforting.

The Doctor can only give him a blank stare.

Eleazar frowns, leaning back in his chair. "I thought you may be curious to know what I had intended for him," he says, steepling his hands in front of his chest. "Dex seemed very interested, you see."

The name hits him, and he winces unconsciously. He does not speak, only closes his eyes and focuses on keeping the knowledge out, on mending the crack in his defenses. He will not break, not now.

Eleazar notices the slight reaction and smiles viciously before continuing, "You see, Doctor, when our ancestors first settled on Karphelox, they were just normal humans. Nothing special," he shrugs. "It wasn't until the discovery of alcanite that everything changed."

He pauses, allows the Doctor a chance to respond. He does not.

Eleazar sighs. "The alcanite is plentiful and useful. It is lightweight and strong, not to mention beautiful." He strokes the blue handle of his cane. "But that is not all."

The Doctor does not move. The words roll off of him, he knows Eleazar is speaking, thinks it could be important, but he doesn't care. He just wants to be left in peace.

"It changed us," Eleazar says. "Each generation, we had more and more children who were... different, who possessed strange abilities. Some felt the emotions of others. Some had an uncanny knack for guessing the future." He locks his gaze onto the Doctor, "and some could read one another's thoughts."

"For a long while, we didn't understand what was causing it. The effects increased with each generation. We had our best researchers investigate." His eyes gleam. "Finally, we discovered that it was the alcanite."

The Doctor does not respond. Eleazar strokes his cane absently. "It holds telepathic energy, and the exposure had been mutating our children. Soon, it became apparent that the telepathically inclined were rising above the ungifted." His face turns hard. "They had to be stopped. There was a long and brutal war, but in the end, the telepathic usurpers were overcome, and justice was restored to Karphelox."

"Since the war ended, I have been working tirelessly to discover why some children were affected and some not." He shakes his head sadly, "but it is so rare that I find a gifted child willing to comply. I'm afraid I have made little progress."

The Doctor still hasn't moved.

Eleazar narrows his eyes. He does not like being ignored. "I am still unsure why you took such pains to shield him, Doctor. A human telepath is a rarity. His mind should have been treasured, not hidden."

Eleazar stands and makes his way to the door, limping slightly. "It's a pity he drowned," he sighs. "Such a waste." He looks over his shoulder to the Doctor, eyes glittering viciously. "What would his mother say?"

Rose. The words tear into his defenses and the memories rush in. He does not notice Eleazar's soft chuckle as he slips out the door. He'd lost Dex. He'd been given a gift, the most precious thing in all the universe, and he'd ruined it. Rassilon, he'd shouted at him. He remembers the big green eyes, wide with hurt, gazing up at him as if he held the world in his hands. He had, once. He remembers the moment he'd realized he was Rose's son, the sudden rush of clarity, how he'd held him in his arms, how right it had felt. He remembers Dex's wide grin, so like hers, and oh, Rassilon, he'd lost them both. He should have pulled him back into the TARDIS, should have never landed on an unknown planet, should have scrambled to his feet and pulled him close when Dex had hugged him goodnight.

He was only seven.

He was so vibrant, so amazing and intelligent and perceptive and open and just full of life, the most brilliant little boy that had ever lived, and nobody in this universe even knew, would never know.

Eleazar was right. It was a waste.

Suddenly, he is fire and rage and fury, is shaking with it, consumed by it. There is not enough of him to bear the burden of his grief, that will come, he knows, but fury, oh, he can handle that. It is simple and all-emcompassing, a billowing inferno that engulfs him, burning in his blood and simmering in his bones. It stirs him, motivates him, drives him.

He stands, fists clenched, and grits his teeth. He has to get out of here.

Dex blinks himself awake. He can still see the grey stone of the ceiling, knows from the damp earthy smell and the crude artificial light that he is still underground, but it is not the same. He has moved.

He tries to sit up, slowly, gently. His muscles ache, he thinks his arms will tear with the effort, but he finally manages. He takes several deep breaths and analyzes his surroundings.

He is sitting on a small, makeshift cot. Someone has changed his clothes and given him a blanket. He is in a dark corner of the cave; he can see light filtering into the room from his right, can hear the low murmur of voices in the distance.

He slides his feet off the edge of his cot and stands slowly. There is a sharp twinge in his left foot, and his body cannot compensate for the sudden change in position. His vision greys out and he crashes backward onto the cot with a yelp.

He blinks hard, and slowly he becomes aware of his surroundings again, notices his hands and the incessant pounding in his head, the tingling in his cheeks and nose. He groans and leans forward, head in his hands. Must have been out for a long time, he thinks.

He hears the soft patter of light footsteps, looks up to see a woman hurrying toward him. "You tried to stand, didn't you?" She cocks an eyebrow at him, and suddenly he recognizes her voice.

She'd been the one who'd carried him away from the lake.

Dex looks at her. She is young, small and graceful, long brown hair hanging in a thick braid down her back. Her eyes are very deep blue.

Dex thinks she's very pretty.

She smiles at him. "I'm Torren," she says, squeezing his shoulder gently. "And you are a miracle." She looks hard at him, appraising, and he can feel the weight of her gaze on him. "You shouldn't be alive."

Dex just stares at her. He's never seen eyes like that.

She sighs, takes his hand. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He blinks. Oh. He wants to trust Torren, thinks that maybe he can, but caution gets the better of him, and he is deliberately vague. "I fell off a cliff," he says slowly, "and..." He pauses, completely unsure what to say next. He doesn't even know what happened himself. "And... I swam here," he finishes lamely. He knows it is a terrible story.

He can see immediately that Torren doesn't buy it. She gives him a skeptical look, eyebrow raised. "Listen, kid," she says, firm but not unkind, "I know what cliff you're talking about. It's over half a mile away." She shakes her head and locks eyes with him. "There's no way you could have been under the water that long."

"Dex," he says absently, ignoring her previous statement. He didn't want to think about how he'd managed to swim so far, didn't understand it.

"I'm sorry?"

"My name is Dex."

She smiles at him, a warm and genuine smile. "Nice to meet you, Dex," she says, gripping his hand.

The smile is gone almost instantly. "Now, Dex," Torren says, all business now, "Why did Eleazar have you on the cliff to begin with?"

Dex blinks at her, and she squeezes his hand again. "It's okay, I'm on your side," she says, and he believes her.

"I don't know," says Dex, honestly. "He thought I was telepathic or something. He wanted to look into my mind." He remembers Eleazar's cold fingers crushing his temples, the painful prodding in his head, and shudders.

Torren throws an arm around his shoulders. "You aren't from here, are you?" she asks, strange blue gaze piercing him.

He shakes his head, wondering why that was obvious.

She purses her lips. "I don't understand why he needed you," she says, eyes far away. "You're just normal."

Dex shrugs. "Yeah, tell me about it," he mumbles.

She raises her hands. "May I?" she asks.

Dex shrinks back unintentionally. He has not forgotten Eleazar.

"It's okay," she says quickly. "It won't hurt, I promise. You probably won't even know I'm here."

Dex gives her a skeptical glance, but nods in acquiescence. Torren gently rests her fingertips on him, and he feels the barest brush of her mind against his.

"Oh," she says, letting her hands fall and staring at Dex in shock.

"What?" Dex snaps. He's had enough of this for one day.

Torren speaks slowly. "It's just... I've never seen a mind like yours," she says, voice hushed. "You've got the most solid defenses I've ever seen." She pauses, looks at him with wide eyes, "and you don't even know!"

He shakes his hair out of his eyes. "But what's special about my mind?" he asks her. "Why did Eleazar want me?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Suppose he thinks whatever's behind that wall must be worth keeping locked up."

The sit quietly for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Dex breaks the silence. "Are you human?"

She laughs. "Of course. Aren't you?"

He ignores her question. "Humans aren't telepathic."

She sighs and looks away from him. She doesn't speak for a long moment. "It's a rare gift," she says quietly. "When our people first came here, nobody was telepathic. But slowly, once or twice in a generation, children were born with rare talents. They called us the 'gifted.'

"It was considered lucky, at first. Most of us were completely normal, to have one of the gifted in your family was celebrated." She pauses, then continues darkly. "Then came Eleazar."

"He was born into the royal family, the oldest of two sons. It was apparent from an early age that Liam, the younger son, was gifted. Eleazar was jealous. He was power-hungry and cruel; he spent many years conducting horrific experiments on the gifted, trying to find the secret to their abilities." She shudders.

"The king found out and had Eleazar banished. Rumor has it that he had planned to pass the crown on to Liam, but not long after that, the king was found dead in his bedchamber. Strangled, they said."

"Eleazar had mounted evidence that the king's murder was the work of the gifted, an effort to instate Liam as king and control the throne. Lots of things were said, but in the end, it led to an uprising. A bitter war."

"Dozens of gifted were slaughtered. We went into hiding, ran to the caves. The city was abandoned because of the gas bombs. Nobody could walk on the surface without a mask for years." She shrugs. "Eventually, the war was lost, there were so few of us left, and Eleazar declared himself Patriarch of Karphelox. Said he wanted a new age of peace."

"That was nearly 13 years ago. Now, the few of us who opposed him are forced into hiding. He controls the public by fear. Every year, he runs a census. Nobody ever talks about it, but it's true purpose is to identify the gifted children. He takes them as babies from their homes, tells the parents that they are going to a special academy for training. They are never heard from again. He has suppliers all over the planet, stealing children and selling them to him. It's a huge business."

She sighs and looks at Dex, and he can see tears in her eyes. "They took my brother," she whispers. "He was just a normal little boy. Nine years old."

Dex takes her hand. "I'm sorry," he says softly. There is nothing else to say.

She sniffs and smiles at him. "You remind me so much of him."

Dex doesn't know how to respond, so he just squeezes her hand.

Neither of them speak for a long while.


	15. Chapter 14

Torren shakes her head and looks at Dex. "You should be able to stand now," she says, smiling gently. "You've been lying down too long to just hop out of bed so quickly."

Dex shakes his hair out of his eyes. "How long was I out?" He is surprised that he doesn't know. Usually, he is able to keep track of things like that.

Torren raises her eyebrows at him. "Nearly two days," she says seriously. "You gave us quite a scare." She gives him another hard, appraising look. "What happened?"

Dex scratches the back of his neck. "I really don't know," he says honestly. "Eleazar's guards were chasing me, and I jumped off the cliff. The current pulled me under, and I thought I was going to die." He shudders unconsciously at the memory, and Torren takes his hand. "I was about to lose consciousness, when..." He pauses, squirming, and Torren nods at him to continue. "I don't know what happened. I was alert and the burn in my lungs was gone, and I just started swimming." He shakes his hair out of his eyes and shrugs. "Then I found the lake." He does not mention just how desperate he was to breathe again, or how badly the swimming had hurt.

Torren raises an eyebrow skeptically. "You're telling me," she says slowly, voice full of doubt, "that you can breathe underwater?"

Dex furrows his brow and shakes his head. "No," he says, trying to think of just how to phrase it. "It was more like... like I didn't have to breathe." He shrugs. "For a little while."

Torren continues to gaze at him skeptically. "You sure you're human?"

Dex shrugs. "Well, yeah," he says finally. It wasn't something he'd ever questioned.

Torren shrugs. "When we found you, we thought you were going to die," she says bluntly. "Your lips were blue and you were shaking. We couldn't get you to stop." She squeezes his hand. "It was obvious that you'd come from the river, but we didn't understand how." She shakes her head in amazement.

Dex scratches his neck. "I don't understand it, either." It makes him uncomfortable, not knowing.

Torren raises an eyebrow. "What were you doing on the cliff, anyhow?"

"I don't know." Dex shrugs. "Eleazar was trying to break into my mind. Somebody cut me loose, and I ran."

"He had you in the Circle?" Torren asks, eyebrows raised.

"Great big amphitheater thing, yeah," says Dex, confused. "What does it matter?"

Torren furrows her brow. "It's just, that's where he broadcasts his speeches, makes his public appearances." She pauses, speaking softly now. "That's where he slaughtered the gifted." A small tremor runs across her body and she shakes herself, giving Dex an intense stare. "Dex, was anyone watching?"

Dex shakes his head. "Only the guards."

Torren nods. "He must have been broadcasting it, then."

Suddenly, Dex remembers. "He's still got the Doctor." He jumps off the cot, forgetting his injured foot, and falls backward with a wince. "Torren, please," he says desperately, pleading to her with wide green eyes, "he's still got my friend. Please, we've got to help him." He realizes that the Doctor must have been watching, would have seen his exchange with Eleazar and his leap off the cliff. Dex can't imagine what he must be thinking right now. It makes something twist painfully in his chest.

Torren sighs sadly. "Dex, there's nothing I can do. It's too late for him."

Dex shakes his head vehemently. "I can't just leave him!"

Torren squeezes his hand. "Dex, even if he is still alive, how are you going to get to him? Eleazar has guards and cameras and alarms everywhere." She sighs sadly. "It would be impossible."

Dex raises his eyes to the ceiling and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, deep in thought. "What if," he says slowly, "he loses his power supply?"

Torren shrugs. "That would take care of the cameras, I suppose, but you'd still have the guards to contend with." She shakes her head, "Besides, you'd still have to get to the maintenance room, in the center of the Dome. You'd never make it."

Dex rolls his eyes. "You said the city is abandoned?"

Torren nods. "Yeah."

"Then it would be much easier for me to disrupt the power to the whole city," he says simply. "Wouldn't hurt anything, since there's nobody else there."

Torren's brow furrows. "I never though of that," she mumbles to herself.

"Don't feel bad," Dex consoles her. "I'm clever."

She shakes her head. "But wouldn't he have a backup generator?" she asks.

Dex shrugs. "Probably, but I've been inside. Everything is musty, and the lights flicker and buzz, like they're old. The generator can't have been used in ages."

Torren cracks her knuckles. "Okay, suppose the generator doesn't kick on for five minutes. You've still got to make it to the Dome, find your friend, and get him out, all while avoiding the guards." She sighs. "I don't know, Dex. Anyway, how are you going to cut the power supply? You can't even walk."

Dex smiles. "Oh, that's easy. My sonic is in the TARDIS. I'll just go get it, find the power supply, and resonate the controls until they burn out. Simple."

He notices Torren gaping at him incredulously. "What?"

He shrugs. "Don't worry about it. Point is, I can do it."

Torren lets it go. "What about the guards?"

Dex shakes his hair out of his eyes. "I don't think we'll have to worry about them. It will be dark, and they'll probably be more worried about the power outage than an infiltration."

Torren looks at him seriously. "You're banking a lot on speculation."

Dex nods. "I know." He pauses, then says quietly. "What other choice have I got?"

Torren doesn't answer.

"Right," says Dex firmly. "Help me up."

Torren shakes her head. "Dex, I don't think it's a good idea," she says softly, gazing at him with sympathy.

Dex rolls his eyes and manages to stand. Even with his weight on his good leg, he winces at the movement. He looks hard at Torren, face deadly serious. "If you don't help me, I'll manage on my own."

Torren looks at him, small and pale and unsteady on his feet. He really should be in bed. But there is such fierce determination in his eyes that something clenches in her chest, and she finds herself saying, "Alright. But first, lets wrap that ankle."

Dex settles on the cot as Torren runs to get the medical supplies. He gently pulls his foot into his lap and studies it. It is heavy and swollen; he cannot even define the shape of his ankle. It is mottled with angry blue and purple bruises. He gently pokes his finger into the puffy skin of his sole and watches as the dent it leaves slowly fills and disappears. "Gross," he breathes, fascinated.

He hears the approach of footsteps and looks up to see Torren carrying a small brown box. She is followed by a tall man with long blonde hair. The man gives him a toothy smile.

"Hello, Dex!" he says cheerfully, "I'm Elliot!"

Dex wiggles his fingers in reply.

Torren grimaces at the sight of his foot. Dex notices that she looks a little pale. "Alright?" he asks.

She nods and looks away from his ankle. "Yeah. Elliot's going to sort you out. I just... can't." She shakes her head and shudders, and Dex gives his foot another appraising glance. He supposes it is sort of disgusting.

Elliot is on the floor, pulling strips of cloth out of the box. "This is the best we've got," he says, still smiling cheerfully. Dex shrugs. He supposes that Elliot must be enthusiastic about everything if he can be so excited about pulling rags out of a box.

Elliot gently takes Dex's foot in his hands and lowers it to the ground. "I've got to get the strips on tight," he says apologetically. "It's going to hurt."

Dex unconsciously twitches his nose. "I know." He is trying not to think about it.

Slowly, Elliot ties the strips of cloth around his ankle. Dex bites his lip and clenches the cloth of the cot in a vice grip.

"Alright?" asks Torren when she notices how pale Dex's face is.

Dex hums noncommittally and closes his eyes tightly. He dare not open his mouth.

"Finished!" exclaims Elliot after an eternity. Dex opens his eyes. He nearly laughs at the absurdity of his crude splint. His foot looks like a pillow. He decides that he will find something else as soon as he can get to the TARDIS.

Torren helps him stand, and he finds that, although the splint is large and clumsy, he can bear weight on his left foot. It is a huge improvement, and almost worth the ridiculousness. Almost.

Dex looks up at Torren. "Okay, sorted," he says, nodding to his foot. "How do we get to the city?"

"What, now?" says Torren incredulously, at the same time as Elliot's "Why are we going to the city?"

Dex rolls his eyes. "We can't wait. Eleazar has the Doctor."

Dex sighs as Torren relays the situation to Elliot, who, of course, vehemently opposes the plan.

Dex nearly stamps his foot with impatience before he remembers. He sighs heavily instead. "I'm going to save the Doctor," he glares at Elliot. "Are you staying or going?"

Elliot bends down and looks him seriously in the eye. "I'm going," he says firmly, "but you aren't walking all the way to the surface."

He scoops Dex up and places him on his shoulders, and no amount of fussing and moaning from Dex can convince him otherwise.


	16. Chapter 15

They make their way slowly through the meandering passages of the caves. Torren walks in front and Elliot follows with Dex perched precariously on his shoulders. The ground is rocky and uneven, and the light is dim at best. Dex is secretly grateful that Elliot had insisted on carrying him.

They pass through several open caverns, and Dex sees other people milling about the caves. For the most part, nobody seems to notice them. Occasionally, Torren will wave to someone in passing, and one man even stops to greet them. Dex does not miss the way Elliot's shoulders tense when the man gives Torren a friendly peck on the cheek. Torren seems oblivious.

When they pass a large chamber full of makeshift pillows and blankets, Dex speaks. "How many people live down here?" He looks speculatively at the blankets. Torren had made it sound like only a few.

Torren shrugs. "Nearly seven hundred, last we counted," she replies. "Mostly war veterans and families of the gifted." She sighs, "Very little children."

"Why?" asks Dex. It doesn't seem like a dangerous place.

Torren walks a little faster, and for a moment, Dex is afraid he's offended her. "Eleazar raids us here, too. It's why we've never set up a permanent base. We have to stay mobile."

"But you've got seven hundred people," says Dex, confused. "Why can't you fight back?"

Torren gives a bitter, barking laugh. "We've got no supplies or money, no weapons, no allies, no real defenses," she sighs. "Eleazar's hold is too strong. We barely survive as it is."

Dex doesn't answer. He thinks there must be a way to overthrow Eleazar, but he lets it go.

They come to a simple rope bridge across a deep chasm. Dex can hear the swirling rush of the river below. He reflexively wraps his fingers into Elliot's hair.

Elliot notices. "Alright up there?" he calls.

Torren glances back in time to see Dex nod. He is pale, fingers threaded tightly into Elliot's hair. Torren can see that Dex is doing his best to appear unaffected, but she is suddenly get aware of the roar of the water below, and Dex can't quite manage to control the panic in his eyes.

She lays a hand sympathetically on his knee. "Dex, we have to cross here. The only other way to the surface is through the river."

Dex gives a tiny shudder, and Torren thinks that maybe she shouldn't have reminded him.

Dex breaths deeply and shakes his hair out of his eyes. "M'fine."

He is not looking at her. Torren squeezes his knee. "Are you sure?" she asks, concerned.

"Yes!" Dex snaps quickly, defensively. Torren watches him closely, and after a moment, he seems to deflate. "Just get it over with," he says quietly.

Torren nods and starts across the bridge. Elliot waits for her to cross before following. Dex screws his eyes shut tightly and pretends that the rush of water below is wind. The bridge sways and bobs unsteadily with each of Elliot's steps, and each time, Dex's stomach drops painfully, as if he is falling. He accidentally allows his eyes to flutter open when they are hallway across; he glimpses the yawning dark of the chasm and hears the steady roar of the water. He clamps his eyes shut and recites to himself: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144...

Dex is at 1597 when he feels Elliot's feet hit solid ground. He sighs heavily with relief.

Elliot cranes his neck in an attempt to look at Dex. "What was that you were muttering?" he asks, brow furrowed.

It takes a moment for Dex to realize he'd been speaking aloud. He blinks. "Oh. Fibonnochi sequence."

Elliot screws up his face and Torren gives him a blank stare.

Dex reaches up and scratches his neck. "Sort of... recreational math, I suppose."

Elliot gives a small "hmm" and keeps walking.

Torren is gaping at him. "How old are you?" she asks incredulously.

"Seven," Dex replies easily, shrugging.

They continue in silence for a long while.

32 minutes after the bridge, Dex notices a change in the air. It is dryer, warmer, and he can feel a slight breeze. They round a corner, and Dex can see rays daylight spilling out over a large ledge in front of them. They've reached the surface.

Torren scrambles easily up the ledge. Dex estimates that it is about 10 feet tall. Elliot shushes him, and they wait in silence until they see Torren's face peeking down at them.

"We're clear," she says, smiling.

Dex looks appraisingly at the ledge. It is slightly undercut, and he wonders how Elliot will manage it with him on his shoulders.

Elliot is wondering the same thing.

Torren watches them, both staring at the rock face blankly. She sighs. It's almost comical. "Dex, do you think you can stand on Elliot's shoulders?" she calls.

Dex's eyes light up. "Maybe," he says, seeing her line of thought.

"Right," she snaps at Elliot, who is still staring up at her dumbly. "Elliot, help Dex stand. If he can balance, I'll be able to reach down and grab his arms."

"Oh." Elliot nods, and Dex wonders, not for the first time, if he is all there.

It takes several tries, but finally, Dex is balanced precariously on Elliot's shoulders, bad leg propped on Elliot's head, leaning heavily against the rock face.

Torren wraps her legs around a stalagmite and hangs her chest over the edge. Dex reaches up and wraps his arms around hers. She pulls him up, and Elliof follows quickly behind.

Dex is breathing heavily. His sore muscles are screaming, and he'd banged his ankle when Torren had pulled him over the edge. He curls over his right knee, which is drawn up, his left leg sprawled out awkwardly. He thinks he will sleep for a week once he gets the Doctor back to the TARDIS.

Torren watches him, cursing herself for even allowing him out of bed. He is pale and small and so very young. She is considering how to convince him to turn back when he speaks.

"Stop worrying," he mutters. He focuses on controlling his breaths, on ignoring the ache in his muscles and the throb in his ankle.

Torren cannot. "Dex..." she says, voice low and skeptical.

"M'fine!" he groans stubbornly, and he looks at her, all huge green eyes full of determination. He leans back against the mouth of the cave. "I need a map of the city," he says, glancing at the sandy floor in front of them.

Torren shakes her head. "I know where the power supply is," she says, confused.

Dex shakes his hair out of his eyes. "I have to find the TARDIS first."

Torren gives him another blank look, and Dex scratches the back of his neck. "It's... it's our ship," he says finally. "I need to get some supplies."

Torren nods to Elliot, who begins scratching a crude map in the sand. Dex slides over to watch.

"This is the Dome?" he asks, pointing to a large circle in the center of the sketch. Elliot nods, and Dex shifts his finger slightly. "And this is the fountain?"

"Yeah."

"Right," says Dex, studying the map with his tongue pressed to the room of his mouth. He points. "This is where the TARDIS is."

Elliot nods. "I can get you there," he says.

Dex starts to rise, but Torren lays a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet," she says. "There are less guards patrolling at night, and you need rest. You're nearly dead on your feet."

Dex realizes that he doesn't have the energy to protest. He settles back down onto the floor of the cave and falls asleep to the low murmur of his companion's voices.


	17. Chapter 16

"Dex." Torren is gently shaking his shoulder.

He is awake instantly. He sits up carefully, mindful of his aching muscles. It is dark in the mouth of the cave. Dex can hear the rhythmic chirp and chatter of insects outside. He moves to stand, and Torren grasps his arms and carefully pulls him up. Elliot is standing outside, back to the cave.

Dex hobbles toward him. They are standing on a rocky hill. Sparse patches of trees are spread erratically down the gentle slope. Two full moons hang low in the sky, one overlapping the other, shining just bright enough to see by. The city sprawls out below them, glowing softly in the gleaming silver light, and the scattered trees cast strange shadows on the rocky hillside. The insects hum loudly.

Ominously beautiful, thinks Dex.

He hears the soft crunch of footsteps behind him, and the insects adjust their song as Torren joins them. The three of them stand in silence for a moment, gazing down the hill at the city below.

Dex grips Torren's hand. "Lets go."

Silently, Elliot swings Dex onto his shoulders. They slip quietly down the hillside, silver ghosts in the darkness.

At the edge of the city, Elliot crouches down, and Torren helps Dex slide off of his shoulders. Elliot looks at Dex questioningly, and Dex nods. He knows that Elliot wants to go first, to scout for guards, and Dex thinks he can walk for a little while.

They sneak through the city, ducking and weaving around buildings, peering around corners. Once, Torren had dashed across a wide street, and Elliot had grabbed Dex and followed with him in his arms. At Dex's questioning glance, Elliot mouths, "patrol." Dex nods, thinking for the thousandth time how inconvenient it is to have an injured ankle. He hates feeling useless.

Suddenly, Torren yanks his arm and jerks him into a narrow alleyway. It twists his ankle, and Dex nearly cries out, biting his lip until tears form in his eyes. They stand with their backs pressed to the stone wall, breathing silently. Dex can feel the adrenaline burning through him, the erratic pounding of his heart in his chest. He takes deep breathes and closes his eyes. His instinct is to run, but the deep throbbing in his ankle reminds him that tonight, he is hiding.

Dex hears the heavy footsteps before he sees the swirling black cloak of the guard that wanders past. He holds his breath. After an eternity, the footsteps fade, and Torren lays a hand on Dex's chest, gently keeping him against the wall while she cautiously peers into the street. She nods, and they continue toward the TARDIS.

Finally, they round a corner, and there she is, parked in the center of a lonely alleyway. Her lights flicker on in greeting as Dex approaches her, and he hears her relieved song of welcome in his mind. Dex gives her a wide smile and runs his hand lovingly on the rough wooden door before pulling the key from his pocket. "Hello, girl," he murmurs to her as he unlocks the door. He hobbles up the grating and she hums happily in reply.

He is just reaching for his hoodie that is hanging haphazardly from the jump seat when he hears a stifled gasp. "Oh," he says, turning to face Torren, who is standing at the door with her hand pressed to her mouth, blue eyes round with wonder.

"Forgot to mention that," Dex says sheepishly, reaching up to scratch his neck. "She's bigger on the inside."

Elliot, to his credit, sweeps a curious gaze across the console room and nods, stepping back outside.

"Come on," says Dex, grabbing Torren's hand and pulling her down the grating, hoodie slung over his shoulder. She follows absently, still gazing around the room in shock.

Dex pulls the door shut behind them and shrugs into his hoodie. The TARDIS pushes her concern to the front of his mind, and he grasps the sonic in his pocket and lays his other hand on the rough wood of her door. "He's coming back, girl. We both are," he whispers. "I promise." She sends him pulses of brilliant golden love, and he smiles back at her, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Torren is gaping at him.

"What?" he asks, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

"You were talking to a spaceship," she says flatly, as if he weren't aware.

Dex furrows his brow. "Yeah, I was. Can't you hear her?" he asks, wondering why Torren, being slightly telepathic, wouldn't have heard the TARDIS's song.

Torren just shakes her head, eyes wide. Dex shrugs.

He turns to Elliot. "Okay, lets get to the power station."

Once again, Elliot leads them silently through the cobblestone streets. Dex walks the entire way. Just as he notices that his ankle is starting to throb in ernest, Elliot stops in front of a small stone building on a street corner. "This is it," he whispers.

Dex steps back and looks at the building appraisingly. Like everything else in the city, it is made of weathered blocks of blue and grey stone, shining softly in the moonlight. There are no windows, only a small wooden door to his right. Should be simple enough to break into, but Dex is feeling uneasy. He wishes he could have a peek inside.

He can feel Torren's and Elliot's eyes on him. He turns to them. "Stand guard," he whispers, gesturing to either side of the street.

Torren shakes her head firmly. "What if something goes wrong in there?" she hisses.

Dex gives her a withering glare. "Street corner," he reminds her, eyebrows raised, gesturing again to either side of the street.

Torren grips his hand. "Dex, please be careful," she pleads, startlingly blue eyes fixed on his. He nods, and she releases his hand and slips around the edge of the building.

Dex takes a deep breath and limps to the door, pulling his sonic out of his pocket. He thought he had managed to fix it when the Doctor was in the shower, but it hasn't been tested. He momentarily regrets rejecting the Doctor's help with its construction.

He quickly sets it to the proper frequency and aims it at the lock. The tip glows red, and it gives a familiar whirring hum that makes Dex light up with pride. The lock disengages, and Dex silently slips inside, peering into the dark.

It is pitch black inside. Dex stands very still, back to the wall, listening intently. There is only the faint hum of the generator. Dex takes a deep breath and activates the torch setting of his sonic.

He explores the room as quickly as he can with his bum foot. It is musty, hardly disturbed. The air is stale. Dust swirls in the air with each movement. Dex stifles a sneeze. There is a small corner office, littered with old papers. Dex peers around a corner, following the hum of the generators. He finds a room full of several. They are large and black, and not what Dex is looking for.

Slowly, he scans the walls between them. He needs a control panel of some sort, something that's destruction will affect all of the generators at once.

He is staring to get frustrated. He desperately needs to sneeze and he is antsy; he's already been here far too long, and his foot twinges excruciatingly with each step.

Finally, he sees a small door at the edge of the generator room. He unlocks it hurriedly, balancing on his good foot, and waves the sonic quickly around the perimeter. Wires and cords and switches. Dex breathes a with of relief; this is what he wants.

He quickly flicks through the settings of his sonic, finally selecting the proper frequency. He sets to work, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, methodically burning the connections on the large silver panel in the center of the closet.

He is a little over halfway finished and feeling rather smug when he hears Torren's hurried footsteps in the generator room.

"Dex!"

"Hmm?"

"We've got to get out of here! I can hear guards shouting."

A stone sinks to the pit of his stomach. In his excitement, he'd forgotten to check for an alarm. He could have easily disabled it, if only he'd thought to look.

The guilt burns at him, but he continues working. This is his only chance.

Torren grabs his shoulder. "Dex, now!" she pleads, but Dex shakes her off.

"Go without me," he says, never looking up from his work. He has to finish; there is no other option.

Torren shakes her head. "I'm not leaving you," she says vehemently.

"Go," he snarls. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even be here."

"Yeah, so come on!" she spits, grabbing him.

"Torren," he groans, exasperated now, never looking up from the control panel, "This is my only shot at saving the Doctor. He's all I've got. I'm not letting him down." Dex can't help but feel that he already has.

Torren is about to argue when Elliot gives a shout. From the corner of his eye, Dex can see her fear. "Don't be stupid," he says bluntly. "Elliot loves you. Go help him."

Torren nods and squeezes his shoulder before darting outside.

Dex is on the last row now. He bites his tongue and keeps working.

The guards surround the building just as Torren sprints out the door. She sees Elliot fighting desperately, but his is outmatched three to one, and the quickly have him subdued, hands behind his back. Torren slowly raises her hands above her head.

Dex severs the last connection and sighs heavily. He can hear the shouts of the guards outside, the scraping of booted feet against cobblestones as Elliot fights back.

He squeezes underneath a generator just as the guards enter the building. The hum of electricity is silenced now, and Dex is acutely aware of his heart pounding in his chest. He holds his breath and hopes fervently that he doesn't sneeze.

The guards swarm the building. One reaches for the lights, curses when he finds they've stopped working. Dex closes his eyes, relieved. At least that had gone according to plan.

After an eternity, the guards exit the building. Dex hears two sharp clicks and an ominous, low grunt. Then, the footsteps fade. Dex slips out from under the generator and pokes his head out the door.

He carefully, haltingly, makes his way back to the TARDIS, stopping to listen frequently, keeping to the shadows. He can hardly walk now; the pain in his ankle is nearly unbearable. Thankfully, the streets are silent.

The TARDIS hums at him in sad sympathy as he approaches. "I'm sorry, girl," he murmurs ashamedly as he unlocks the door. She sings a song of comfort as he collapses onto the grating, back against the doors. She doesn't blame him.

Dex leans his head back, letting the guilt of the past few days overtake him. Elliot and Torren are prisoners, and it is his fault. Had he been more cautious, less arrogant, he could have found and disabled the alarm and avoided their capture. He has no idea if the Doctor is okay, had just botched his only chance of rescuing him. Had he not badgered him about flying the TARDIS, they wouldn't have even been in this mess to begin with. He sends another mental apology to the TARDIS. He'd broken his promise to her, too. He'd come back without the Doctor. He wonders what Eleazar has done to him. He finds that he cannot dwell on the thought; it makes him sick to think of.

Dex feels a fierce wave of determination roll over him. The Doctor would never abandon him to a madman, no matter what. Dex grits his teeth and pushes himself carefully to his feet. He steadies himself on the railing and hobbles off in search of the med bay. He will have to take care of this injury before he can think of a plan.


	18. Chapter 17

He is thrown back onto the floor, hard this time. He doesn't attempt move, just lays there, breathing heavily, defeated.

He thinks it's been nearly three days since he'd first stood and clenched his fists in fury. Since then, he'd launched himself into the force-field endlessly, had been knocked back to ground countless times, battered and bruised. He'd sat calmly on the floor and counted, seconds, minutes, and hours ticking by. He'd paced, mapping the edges of his prison and calculating the likeliest weak points. He'd shouted, screaming curses until his throat was raw and his voice gone. He'd meditated, calling out to the TARDIS in frustration, but she'd remained silent. Then he'd sat still, contemplating, until the anger had risen again and he'd begun the process anew.

Now, he lays pitifully on the floor, at a complete loss for what to do next. It is so very simple, this method of confinement, and so very, very effective. The fire drains out of him and he is just hollow; cold and miserable and helpless. He doesn't allow himself to mourn. He will, he knows, but somehow, he cannot allow himself to shatter here, will not give Eleazar the satisfaction. He keeps his thoughts simple: anger, escape, vengeance.

He is starting to feel the effects of his confinement. It had been weeks since he'd last slept, was already nearly due for a kip, but now, the physical and emotional strain is catching up with him, and he is suddenly bone-weary. He hasn't had food or water, is beginning to feel the effects of dehydration. He is bruised from his fruitless attempts at escape, and his hearts twinge with each breath, a physical reaction to the grief he refuses to acknowledge.

It threatens to overwhelm him, the loss, to sink into his hearts and drown his soul, but he desperately fights it back. Not yet. Please, not yet.

The lights flicker and buzz, and he stands slowly. This is new. Eleazar had left them on when he'd left him last, and they hadn't been disturbed since. Something is happening.

The fire of anger and adrenaline burns away the weariness. The lights flicker again, and he steels himself. This is it, he knows.

The lights burn out with a pop, and the Doctor is suddenly immersed in darkness. The sound of his breathing is startling in the heavy silence.

Tentatively, he steps forward. This time, he is not thrown back. He laughs, but the sound is rough and hollow. The power outage came eons too late. He wishes bitterly that it could have happened three days ago, but thus is the vengeance of the universe. She is unforgiving.

The fury takes over, and he stalks to the door and slides it open. It takes all of his restraint to avoid tearing down the hallway and strangling Eleazar in a rage. He closes his eyes and stops himself before he can complete the thought. That is not what he has in mind.

Eleazar follows two of his guards into the power supply building.

"This is it, sir,"'says one, indicating a large silver panel in the control room. Eleazar can see that every connection has been burned out.

"Fix it," he sniffs, turning to go.

"Sir." The guard squirms as Eleazar turns his yellow gaze onto him. He speaks tentatively. "An outage like this will take days to repair."

Eleazar's gaze darkens. He leans forward on his cane and looks threateningly at his guards. "This is the work of the gifted," he says, musical voice deadly quiet. "It is a rescue attempt."

His guards nod slowly, and Eleazar relaxes.

"Find the Doctor," he snaps. "And make ready for a raid. It has been far too long since we've reminded them of their place."

The guards bow and hurry from the room, and Eleazar smiles wickedly.

The Doctor slinks down the hallway, fires of his rage consuming him until he is tempered steel, cold and detached, calculating.

It does not take him long to find Eleazar's office. He slips through the door silently. The office is empty. He isn't sure wether to be relieved or disappointed.

Quickly, he shuffles through Eleazar's desk, groping in helplessly in the dark. Eventually, his hand wraps around something cold and hard and so, so familiar, and he smiles wolfishly as he activates the torch setting and hears the familiar whirring buzz, pleased at just how easy it was to find.

He searches through the office for a while longer. He doesn't find his suit jacket. He regrets the loss of the contents of his pockets - making psychic paper takes a ridiculous amount of energy - but he has what he came for, and for now, that is enough.

It is still dark when the Doctor slides the door to Eleazar's office shut. He jumps when he feels a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Halt!"

Before he can rethink it, the Doctor reaches up and grasps the hand. He aims a burst of telepathic energy into the guards's center of consciousness, and the guard crumples to the ground in a heap.

The Doctor pales. In the guard's mind, he'd seen more than his center of consciousness. All of Eleazar's guards were taken as children from their homes. The children had been tested for telepathic potential, and those that lacked the ability were slowly brainwashed to do Eleazar's bidding.

But how?

The guard shifts and moans, and the Doctor quickly squashes the stab of guilt that pricks at him. He is merely sleeping, and other than a killer headache in the morning, he will be fine.

He continues down the dark passage, contemplating Eleazar's unnatural abilities. Human telepaths are extremely rare, and even with the added effects of alcanite exposure, even the most talented should only have slight abilities, at best. There is nothing human about the effectiveness of the shielding that Eleazar has in place, nor his ability to so thoroughly and effectively brainwash that many children.

The Doctor comes to a large, open cavern. It looks a bit like a warehouse, with rows and rows of large boxes stacked on top on one another. He steps inside, grateful for the power outage. The security system is down.

He wanders through the large room, carefully reading the labels and considering his findings. He thinks this could be what he's looking for. He absently runs his hand across a sliver of gleaming blue alcanite in the wall, and feels a tiny bit of his energy slip into the stone. He stops, runs his finger across it again, feeling the slight buzz of his own life-force greet him.

"It holds telepathic energy."

Suddenly, he remembers. Eleazar stroking the blue stone as he speaks about the alcanite, his tight-lipped smile as he grips the Doctor's hand, Eleazar leaning heavily on his cane as the Doctor felt an overwhelming surge of terror.

Oh, I'm thick, thinks the Doctor with a stab of horror. Alcanite holds telepathic energy. Eleazar had been taking the children, weeding out those with telepathic potential, and storing all of their energy inside a stone, tapping into it to control the others as he pleased. He'd even used it to enhance my fears, he realizes.

He is furious. He'd known that Eleazar had been tampering with his emotions, somehow intensifying them, but using the stolen energy of children? The Doctor breathes heavily. He thinks he may be sick.

He realizes, horrified, that this is what Eleazar had planned for Dex. Had Dex been a telepath, Eleazar would have drained him slowly of his life-force, of the spark and drive that made up Dex. He would have become listless, mindless, an empty shell, incapable of the thought and emotion and pure brilliance that made him unique. The image appears unbidden in his mind; Dex, face flat and empty, eyes vacant and devoid of their usual intelligent sparkle, wasting away from lack of self.

The thought is horrific, abominable, and the Doctor can barely see straight. He tears through the room, searching frantically, hands shaking, eyes dark and deadly. This will stop.

He finds what he is looking for in the back corner of the room. A whole arsenal of weapons left- over from the war. He works quickly, sonic screwdriver buzzing intermittently in the darkness.

He finishes his task and slumps dejectedly on his knees in the darkness. The rhythmic beep pierces his thoughts, and he finds it impossible to focus on anything but the soft red glow cast in the display.

The bomb will detonate in three minutes. He makes no effort to escape, tells himself that he needs to sit with the bomb, to make sure nobody happens to deactivate it. He fervently hopes that the explosion wipes out all of Eleazar's supporters with it, hopes that the children of Karphelox have a brighter future. He mourns the loss of the guards, justifies it by telling himself that they are beyond saving. None of them have had a thought of their own for years.

As for himself, well, he just doesn't care. He's spent his entire life at the whim of the universe; one last, thankless act, and it would all be over. Pink Doctor-dust. He smiles wryly at the macabre image.

Finally, he allows his thoughts to turn to his pink-and -yellow girl and her son. The two most precious people in the universe, the ones he'd failed. He wonders briefly what they'd think of him, decides that he can't find it in himself to care. He is beyond it now, can feel nothing but a detached numbness.

The Doctor stares into the gentle red glow of the display and remembers.

She watches him, his face lit with an eerie red glow, eyes vacant, staring into the darkness.

She takes a deep breath. She knew it would be bad, but seeing him like this, so detached, so flippant with his own life, makes her chest twist painfully.

She replays a thousand memories, him manically flipping switches as he darts around the console, the mad grin in the midst of danger, the pride that lights his eyes when she says something clever, gripping her hand tightly as he swings open the doors to the TARDIS, the squeak in his voice when he's embarrassed, the glint in his eye as he tells stories of his past adventures, and the cocked eyebrow she receives when she calls him on his embellishments. He'd always been so happy, exuded such joy and contentment and enthusiasm, that seeing him this way is just wrong.

She decides that he can never know.

She creeps up behind him and raises the wooden mallet, gritting her teeth. She knows it will leave a mark.

He shakes himself out of his trance. He thinks he can feel something, a breath of wind at his back, the faint tingle of a twist of timelines, or maybe something else, something long forgotten.

Just as he turns, something slams hard into his right temple, and he limply crumples to the ground.


	19. Chapter 18

The TARDIS has graciously moved the med bay right next to the console room. Dex sends her a wave of thanks. Even so, he finds that he cannot stand long enough to rifle trough the cabinets in search of something to relieve the pain in his foot.

He collapses onto a low cot near the cabinet, gently easing his foot onto the mattress and propping it with a pillow, and waits for the throbbing to subside enough for him to stand.

He glances around the room, wondering how he will manage to find the proper supplies. In the few months that he'd been with the Doctor, he'd held to his promise of very, very careful, and neither of them had ever been injured enough to warrant coming here. Other than a monitor screen, he has no clue how to even begin to identify any of the medical equipment he sees in the room. It is all far, far beyond 21st century Earth.

Dex lays back and sighs. He will worry about that as soon as his ankle gets some rest. The throbbing is excruciating, searing up his leg with each beat of his heart. It is difficult to focus on anything else. Dex closes his eyes in an effort to block out the pain, breathing deeply. Gradually, the throbbing fades to the background, and suddenly, he is exhausted. His last hazy thought before drifting into a deep sleep is that he will be no help to the Doctor if he cannot even keep his eyes open.

His eyes flutter open. Colors and sounds rush in, flooding his senses in a dizzying swirl of chaos, and he winces and screws his eyes shut tightly. He reaches up and gingerly brushes his fingers across his right temple, finds that his hair is matted and sticky, smells the sharp tang of blood.

Blow to the head, he thinks, as if it weren't obvious from the piercing throb boring into his skull or the dark blood that stains his fingers.

Thoughts come slowly. He gives his body a once-over; he seems to be fine, despite being mottled with bruises. Only a few are deep, nothing to be concerned about. Most will fade within the day.

He realizes that he is leaned against the door of the TARDIS, has no memory of how he got there. Something niggles at him, in the back of his mind. He is missing something critical.

He has a sudden flash of memory. Huddled in a cool, dark room, smells of plastic and earth, stale air coating his nose, a hazy red glow illuminating his face and a soft, steady beeping.

He grasps at it, pinches the bridge of his nose and concentrates as hard as he can, clinging to the cool, damp air that had chilled his skin and the rhythmic beeping that had embedded itself into his subconscious. He knows it is important, but his rattled brain cannot handle it, and the memory slips just barely out of his reach.

He sighs and sits up hesitantly, taking care not to jar his head. He thinks he may have a concussion. A nasty one, too, judging by the sheer force of the sharp pounding in his head and the reluctance of his memories to surface. He will be fine as soon as he can make his way to the med bay, but in the meantime, he takes no chances. He stands slowly, leaning heavily on the TARDIS, and waits for the dizziness to subside before he opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings.

Blue and grey and black. Weathered stone buildings, gleaming in the early morning sunlight, and polished, cobblestone streets. Complete silence.

The memories flood his brain with a vengeance, ripping into his mind and swirling painfully there, sharp and raw and completely overwhelming. He nearly buckles under the weight of them.

He manages to unlock the TARDIS with trembling hands, is hardly aware of stumbling up the ramp and hastily activating the dematerialization sequence, throwing her into the vortex.

He slides to the floor and curls into a ball, shaking. It consumes him now, the raw grief, fierce and sharp and vivid. He'd lost Dex. The cold reality sinks into him, stabbing brutally into his consciousness with each beat of his hearts. He wishes bitterly for an end to his suffering, remembers suddenly that he'd fully intended to go out with the Dome. Someone had saved him. He sniffs. Rassilon, he can't even die properly.

The guilt and the regret claw at him, tear into his soul, and he drops his head into his hands and trembles under the burden of it, reliving all of his failures. He hadn't hugged him back. He hadn't allowed him to fly the TARDIS. Couldn't keep him safe. The image of Dex staring up at him with wide, hurt eyes slams into him with a force that makes him wince. He'd only been worried about me, he thinks, and I shouted at him.

Oh, he'd loved that little boy, loved him like his own. It hadn't been long, less than three months, but already Dex had become the most precious thing in the universe, his brilliant little shadow. He lived for that smiling face, those luminous green eyes that sparkled with boundless enthusiasm, the snarky banter between them, the long, intelligent discussions in the study, the high-pitched peals of laughter, the chai tea and the banana pancakes and the disastrous experiments. There was only one other who'd ever captured his hearts so quickly and completely, and he'd lost her, too. Dex had saved him in more ways than one, had been his joy and his absolution and his second chance.

He aches to feel the grip of a little hand in his, to swing him up and wrap him in his arms, to tuck him in at night and tell him a story, to see his wide eyes sparkle with laughter, to feel the nudge of a bony shoulder against his waist, to tell him just how brilliant he is. He'd held himself back, dismissed his emotions as "domestic," told himself that it wasn't his place, but the truth was, Dex had sparked something in him, the deepest desires of his hearts, and all he wanted, more than anything in all the worlds, was to love this amazing little boy.

Gone, now. He'd missed his chance, failed yet again, and Dex had died alone and abandoned, had never known just how important he was, how brilliant and amazing and just how loved. What he wouldn't give to go back, to have five more minutes, to make it right. He laughs brokenly at the bitter irony. Time Lord with a time machine, can save lives and worlds and universes, but can't go back and save the one tiny, precious thing that matters most.

The TARDIS reaches out to him, sings of love and comfort and reassurance, but he pushes her away, locking her out and succumbing to his grief.

Dex wakes to the song of the TARDIS. She is singing comfort and concern, and he sits up slowly. His leg feels better now; he thinks he can stand again.

He dangles his feet off the edge of the bed, considering what to do next. Obviously, he has to see to his injured ankle, to at least stabilize it with something more suitable than dirty rags.

He wonders what to do about the Doctor. He absolutely cannot, will not leave him. He considers asking the TARDIS to help him fly her. Neither of them know where the Doctor is, but maybe, between the two of them, they can materialize in random areas of the Dome, start a systematic search.

Dex sighs heavily. He doesn't even know if the TARDIS is capable of teaching him to fly. It is a terrible plan and he knows it, but it is all he has.

He realizes suddenly that he can no longer feel the tilt of the planet beneath his feet, catalogues the slight change in the hum of the engines, the warm spice of time and the strange stillness that settles into his bones. It is the sense of being isolated, detached from the hurtling dance of the universe, timeless. He is in the vortex.

Hope wells in him, and he slides carefully to the floor and makes his way to the console room as quickly as he can.

Dex sees long, pinstriped legs and scuffed white trainers, and nearly collapses with relief. He hadn't realized until this moment just how worried he'd been, terrified of all the horrific things Eleazar could be doing to the Doctor. He smiles proudly and hobbles forward. He'd underestimated him. Of course the Doctor would escape.

The smile drains from his face. The Doctor hasn't moved. He is sitting with his back to the console, legs drawn up, staring absently ahead, unseeing. He is pale and listless, Dex notices with horror that his hair is matted with blood.

Dex is suddenly very, very afraid. He stumbles forward and kneels awkwardly on the ground next to the Doctor, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.

He is vaguely aware of the soft thump of uneven footsteps approaching him. He tunes them out, doesn't move. He nearly jumps when he sees Dex in his peripheral vision. He exhales heavily. It is a brutal, the way his brain conjures the image, a desperate effort to relieve the anguish of his broken, tortured mind.

He does not acknowledge it. It will fade in time.

The apparition-Dex stumbles toward him unsteadily, settling beside him on the grating. He can hear its ragged breathing, feels the heat of its skin so close to his. He closes his eyes lightly, but the warmth remains. Rassilon, his mind is cruel.

"Doctor," it calls softly. Something small and warm rests gently on his shoulder. He starts, turns his head. Large green eyes, wide with worry and fear, gaze into his. He cannot move, can only stare into this perfect little face, notices each freckle scattered across his nose, sees the dark, unkempt hair falling into those luminous eyes, his expressive brow furrowed in concern. The Doctor blinks, but the image remains.

Dex gently squeezes the Doctor's shoulder and lays his other hand on his chest. "Doctor, what has he done to you?" he breathes, feeling his heart sink deep into his chest.

"Dex." The word is raw and guttural, rasping painfully from his throat. His face is disbelief and thunder, eyes dark and desperate and locked intently onto the little face in front of him.

Dex knew what the Doctor would have assumed, but had never realized, had never completely grasped just how it would affect him. "Yeah," he says simply. There is nothing else to say.

The Doctor reaches up and runs a finger down Dex's temple, closing his eyes. Real.

He crushes Dex to him, wraps his arms tightly around his little body, shuddering with joy and relief and terror, afraid if he loosens his grip, Dex will slip away from him. He still can't quite believe it. He doesn't understand how this amazing little boy had survived, had found his way back to him. It defies all of the rules of the universe, but the Doctor doesn't care. He is here.

Dex flinches suddenly, and the Doctor pulls him back sharply. "You're hurt." His voice is low and dangerous, dark eyes full of anger.

Dex ignores him. "M'fine," he says, reaching up to gently explore the matted blood in the Doctor's hair. "More worried about you."

Strong, warm hands grip his shoulders, and Dex is face to face with the Oncoming Storm. "Where?" he grates. The word is nearly a whisper, but his eyes are dark and fierce and deadly, and Dex thinks he might crack under the intensity of the gaze.

"S'just my foot," mumbles Dex, squirming under the piercing gaze locked onto him. The Doctor's searching eyes find Dex's makeshift splint, and his face hardens, lips twitching slightly.

"Come on," he says softly, and he gently lifts Dex into his arms and holds him close, carrying him to the med bay.


	20. Chapter 19

Eleazar looks down upon the smoldering remains of his domain. Half of his city had been wiped out, his arsenal and store of alcanite reduced to rubble.

All of his life's work destroyed.

Eleazar strokes his cane absently. This is his last remaining store of charged alcanite; he will have to plan his next move carefully.

He summons his commanding officer.

"Look upon the destruction," he says softly, spreading his hands over the ruins, melodious voice infused with deep regret. "Our homes, our lives. They take no thought for the suffering of the innocent."

The guard bobs his head, and Eleazar indicates that he may speak. "Sir," he says, tone imploring, "have you considered a counterattack?"

Eleazar shakes his head sadly. "We do not have the supplies or the men."

The guard inclines his head. "Sir, my men are willing. I can have a strike force prepared within the hour."

Eleazar grasps his hand. "Thank you, Sebastian. You are my most trusted advisor."

Sebastian nods sharply and takes his leave, hurrying to prepare his men.

Eleazar smiles down at the broken city. There will be vengeance.

The strips of cloth fall away, and the Doctor inhales sharply at the state of Dex's foot. It is swollen to twice the size it should be, deep purple and blue bruises staining the tissue just below the skin. He silently reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a small, white stick. Dex thinks it must be a scanner of some sort.

The Doctor runs the scanner slowly across Dex's leg, starting at mid-calf and ending at his toes. Dex watches with interest. He thinks that the swelling may be worse now than when he'd last seen it; even his toes are puffy. Probably because he'd walked on it so much.

The Doctor keeps his face carefully blank as he scans Dex's injury. He focuses on the task at hand, pushing back the swirling chaos of questions that threaten to overwhelm him. Dex is hurt, and he has to fix it.

The scanner beeps, and the Doctor turns to the monitor. Dex has a fractured lateral malleolus and a grade three sprain. He wonders how long Dex has been attempting to walk on the injury. It needs proper treatment.

Dex watches the Doctor carefully. He hasn't spoken since they'd entered the med bay. "Fracture and a sprain?" Dex asks lightly, intending to spark a thorough medical discussion.

It is the wrong thing to say. The Doctor's gaze flickers to Dex, drops down to his ankle, then quickly turns back to the monitor. His face is hard and shuttered, eyes far away. "Yeah."

Dex sighs. He wishes he knew what was going on in the Doctor's head.

The Doctor takes a closer look at the 3-D scan on his monitor. He is surprised at how much cartilage is present around Dex's fracture site. The fracture is still new, three days old at most, but it is already nearly formed a soft callus, a process that should should take at least two weeks. The Doctor looks closely at Dex's severed ligaments. He can already see the formation of collagen fibers, though most have been severed recently, probably retorn by the additional stress of bearing Dex's weight.

The Doctor looks appraisingly at Dex. It is much too soon for him to be at such an advanced stage of healing, especially with the additional trauma and the lack of medical treatment, but here is the evidence, right before his eyes. He probes the timelines, searching for any sort of temporal anomaly, and finds nothing amiss. Dex had been gone three days.

The Doctor pushes the questions to the back of his mind and crosses the room. He returns with a small, silver cuff. He silently takes Dex's injured foot and slides the cuff over Dex's ankle. It stretches easily, accommodating the swelling of the injury, and slowly tightens around Dex's lower leg, just before the worst of the bruising. Dex is aware of it, but it is not uncomftable. The Doctor types something on a small keyboard, watching the monitor intently, and the cuff begins to hum softly. Dex can't hear it so much as feel it, a gentle vibration deep in his bones. It's a bit painful at first, but slowly his body adjusts and he finds that he can bear it, though he does not like it.

"What's it doing?" he asks, half out of interest, half in an attempt to get the Doctor to speak, to blink, anything. Dex is starting to get concerned about the flat look in his eyes and his empty, shuttered expression. He wonders if it is because of his head injury.

The Doctor doesn't look at him, is carefully rifling through a cabinet in search of... something. Dex is afraid he will not answer. When he does finally speak, his voice is hollow. "It's an osteoregenerator," he says quietly, lacking the buoyant enthusiasm that usually accompanies lecture-mode. "Stimulates the osteoblasts to lay down bone faster. It will accelerate the healing process."

Dex nods, brilliant green eyes wide with wonder. Cool, he thinks.

The Doctor hands him a little packet of pills and a cup of water. "Take these," he says softly. Dex is about to ask when he explains, "It's a healing supplement; The healing process will cause a calcium deficiency without it." Dex is relieved to see his lips twitch slightly.

Dex obediently takes the pills and the Doctor pulls out a soft, pliant splint. It is much thinner than the rag pillow that Dex had been wearing, and Dex is grateful that he's escaped the scratchy plaster variants of his timeline. He remembers Mickey being miserable for weeks after a work accident. The Doctor gently wraps the splint around Dex's ankle, and it adjusts to fit his swelling. Dex thinks it already feels better.

The Doctor eases himself gently onto the edge of the bed, facing Dex. He stares at him for a long while, never speaking, and Dex sees a torrent of emotions flicker across his face.

The Doctor watches Dex, just takes in the fact that he is here, right in front of him, smiling as if nothing had happened. It is so difficult to reconcile the harsh reality of this morning with the -relative- normalcy of the moment. Aside from the ankle, Dex seems none worse for the wear. The Doctor finds it difficult to revel in the relief. Oh, he feels it, but he is terrified that if he relaxes, allows himself to enjoy even one moment, it will all be ripped away from him.

Dex gazes at the Doctor, notices the hard edge of fear in the dark eyes, sees the carefully schooled expression and the repressed emotions beneath. He feels a deep stab of pity. He can't imagine thinking the Doctor dead for three days.

"You were watching, weren't you?" Dex asks softly, though he already knows the answer.

The Doctor closes his eyes and breathes deeply, replaying the memory. He nods. "Yes."

Dex sees the horror and the pain flash across his face, knows he is reliving the memory of watching him jump. He slides closer to the Doctor and leans his head on his chest. "I'm sorry," he says, breathing in the spicey scent of time and chai and Doctor. It is warm and comfort and home, and Dex is suddenly very relieved that the past few days are over. "I'm glad you're okay," he sighs.

The Doctor rests his chin on the top of Dex's head and wraps his arms around him. "Yeah," he says roughly. "Me, too."

He sighs heavily into Dex's hair and savors the solid comfort of the little miracle in his arms. "Dex, what happened?" he asks finally, voice low and serious.

Dex swallows. He needs to explain it all, to get it all out, and he desperately wants to ask the Doctor about what had happened to him in the water. But he remembers the absent expression in the console room, the edge of fear in the Doctor's eyes and the trembles that had racked the Doctor's body as he'd held him close. Dex decides that he won't put the Doctor through the trauma of imagining him drown, not now, maybe not ever. "The water pulled me under," he says slowly, and the Doctor reflexively tightens his hold on Dex, "and I found a tunnel. I swam, and I came to a lake." He pauses. "I... I met these people," he continues, carefully editing the details of blue lips and unconscious and near-death. "They live in the caves, like refugees. Two of them went with me to the surface." Dex looks at the Doctor now, large green eyes full of regret and an unspoken apology. "I tried to rescue you," he says quietly. "Came to the TARDIS and got my sonic screwdriver, cut the power supply to the whole city." He stops now, looking at his hands, expression full of guilt. "There was an alarm," he whispers.

The Doctor blinks, wide grin spreading across his face. "It was you?"

"Hmm?" murmurs Dex, still lost in the memory of the failed rescue attempt.

The Doctor is laughing now, all of the relief of the past hour crashing into him at once. "Dex, it was you!" he says, tilting Dex's jaw with a finger so he can look him in the eyes. "It worked," he laughs joyously. "You were the reason I escaped."

Dex's lips twitch, and he looks hopefully at the Doctor. "Yeah?" he asks, disbelieving.

"Yes! Your power outage!"

Slowly, a grin spreads over Dex's face, and the Doctor swoops him into a tight hug. "Oh, you're brilliant, you are!"

Dex giggles into his chest, and the Doctor thinks his hearts might burst with happiness.

"You think so?" Dex teases, tongue between teeth.

The Doctor pulls Dex back and looks him seriously in the eye, taking his face in his hand. "Oh, yes," he says softly, eyebrows raised earnestly, dark eyes intense.

Dex smiles and leans happily on the Doctor's shoulder. "Suppose you owe me one, yeah?" he says after a moment.

The Doctor smiles down at him. If only he knew how much. "Suppose I do," he says easily.

Dex squirms, wants to stay in this moment forever, wants to lock out the world and all of the responsibilities that go with it. It would be so, so easy. He sighs. He won't run from his mistakes. He steels himself and looks the Doctor determinedly in the eye.

"We have to go back."


	21. Chapter 20

"No."

The word is out of his mouth before he can quite comprehend what Dex is asking.

"Doctor-"

"No." Is that his voice? It is harsh and sharp, rings with finality. Nothing in all of the universes could convince him to return with Dex to Karphelox; in fact, he's pretty sure Dex won't be leaving the TARDIS anytime soon.

Dex's eyes are large and suspiciously wet, and his face is full of guilt. "Doctor, please. Just let me-"

"No." This time, the word is quiet, nearly a whisper. The Doctor turns away from Dex, cannot look him in the eye. He doesn't understand what could possess Dex to want to return to Karphelox. Everything in him rebels at the very thought, and he is having a hard time forming words.

Dex allows him the moment, doesn't speak, just slides closer and waits. The Doctor can feel his body heat against his skin; such a simple thing, but it nearly undoes him. He leans his head in his hands and wraps his fingers in his hair. "Dex, why?"

Dex pulls his good leg toward him and stares intently at his toes. "I messed up," he says, so softly that the Doctor nearly mishears him. A fat tear rolls down his cheek, and he wipes it away furiously. The Doctor feels his hearts clinch.

Dex sniffs. "Torren and Elliot, my friends, got captured by Eleazar's guards." He shakes his hair out of his eyes and continues in a whisper, "It's my fault."

The Doctor ducks down and carefully looks Dex in the eye. "It's not your fault," he says fiercely, squeezing his hand.

"But it is!" he cries, voice high and thin with desperation. "I never checked for an alarm in the power supply building!"

His eyes are wide and shining, and the Doctor is suddenly overwhelmed by thick waves of love for this little boy. He rests his hands on Dex's shoulders. Dex's won't meet his eyes. "Dex, look at me," he says, gently, firmly.

Dex reluctantly raises his gaze. His eyes are swimming with tears. The Doctor thinks that he'd do anything to have his smiling little boy back. "Sometimes," he says slowly, voice low and serious, "bad things just happen, and nobody can stop them from happening. You couldn't have saved them, Dex. Sometimes, we just have to accept it."

Dex blinks, and his gaze hardens into steely determination. "You're wrong," he says flatly, gazing at the Doctor with intense green eyes. "I could have disabled the alarm if I weren't so excited about using my sonic for the first time. It was a stupid mistake, my stupid mistake, and I don't have to accept it! We have to go back."

It is so like her, the stubborn glare and the endless loyalty and the flat refusal to compromise. The Doctor suddenly feels it all, like a slap in the face, everything that he'd lost, could have lost. It is far, far too much, and he nearly breaks. "Dex, we can't go back," he says roughly, eyes glittering with the pain of a thousand memories.

Dex is having none of it. "Why not?" he demands hotly.

The Doctor snaps. "I almost lost you!" he shouts, pulling away from Dex and running his hands fiercely through his hair.

Dex can see the panic in his eyes; the effects of the past three days have leaked onto his face, are written in the slump of his shoulders and the tension of his body. Dex hates it; he slides closer and bumps shoulders with him, gently. "But you didn't," he says softly, hoping to remind the Doctor that all of the might-have-beens in the universe pale in the face of this one simple reality. He is right here.

The Doctor feels a tremor run through his body at the contact, wants to cling to this little boy and never let go, feels a stab of guilt and shame. "But I could have, Dex," he nearly whispers, head is his hands. He looks at Dex now, eyes glittering, face haunted. "Do you know what he wanted to do to you?" he spits, voice rising. "He wanted to break into your mind and remove every single thing that makes up you, he wanted to slowly drain it out of you, all of your energy, that spark of life. He wanted to steal it, to hoard it all away and use it to enslave other children!"

Dex gazes at him. His hair is disastrous, standing up erratically, still matted with dried blood, eyes frantic, face pale and hollow. He looks half-mad. Dex thinks he's never loved him more. He wraps his arms around the Doctor and leans into his chest. "I know," he says softly, though he actually hadn't. It doesn't matter. "But I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere," he says firmly.

The Doctor shudders involuntarily. He vividly remembers Rose telling him the same thing, nearly word for word, only days before Canary Wharf. He wants so badly to believe Dex, doesn't quite understand just why he needs this little boy, decides resolutely that it doesn't matter. He shake his head. "Dex, I'm scared." The words pass unbidden through his lips, voice raw and cracked, nearly a whisper, and for a moment he can't believe he's spoken. He's never been so honest in all his lives, and that scares him, too.

Dex thinks nothing of it, just takes a hand a squeezes it gently. "S'okay," he says softly. "I am, too."

The Doctor nearly laughs. It is absurd, this seven year old child that makes him say and feel and do things that he'd never dreamed in all of his lives. He shakes his head in amazement and decides that he wouldn't change it for all of the worlds.

They are silent for a long moment. Finally, Dex gently nudges the Doctor with his shoulder, jarring him out of his thoughts. "You need a shower," he says, wrinkling his nose slightly. "We can talk about it later, yeah? Time machine an' all."

"Oi!" The Doctor nudges Dex back and cocks an eyebrow at him. "So do you."

Dex grins at him and shifts forward in an attempt to slide off the bed. The Doctor grabs his shoulders and pulls him back. "Where do you think you're going?" he laughs.

Dex looks at him, perplexed. "Shower?"

The Doctor shakes his head as he rises and crosses the room. "Not like that, you're not." Dex can hear him rummaging around in a supply closet, hears a clatter and a muttered curse. The Doctor returns triumphantly carrying a silver pair of crutches.

Dex wrinkles his nose. "Really?" he whines.

The Doctor shoots him a confused glance. "You expected something different?" he asks, trying not to grin. Dex isn't fooled. He can see the amusement sparkling in those warm brown eyes.

Dex groans and rolls his eyes as the Doctor pushes the crutches toward him. He had been expecting something different. He slides off the bed and leans on them, testing. They don't hurt his arms as much as he'd anticipated. "S'pose it's better than being carried everywhere," he mumbles, and the Doctor laughs.

Dex turns back to the Doctor at the door of the med bay. "Doctor?"

"Hmm?" He is powering down the monitor.

"I won't forget," Dex says seriously.

The Doctor sighs heavily and turns to Dex. He is leaning on his crutches in the doorway, small and vulnerable, luminous eyes wide and hard with resolve. "I know," he says quietly. "But Dex, lets wait until you're better. Please."

The Doctor can see that Dex wants to argue, but reason gets the better of him. "Okay," he says after a moment.

The Doctor smiles softly at him, and Dex haltingly makes his way to his room. A shower sounds nice.


	22. Chapter 21

They materialize on a barren, rocky hillside. Rose thinks there must have been trees here once, but now the ground is charred and black; only broken stumps and thick grey ash remain.

The Doctor turns, taking in the environment. It is unfamiliar. "I don't remember this place," he says slowly, eyes sweeping over the scorched ground.

Rose grips his hand excitedly. "This could be it, then!" He can see her eyes darting, searching for any sign of the TARDIS.

The Doctor takes a deep breath. There is something about this ashy slope that unnerves him; it is unsettling, the ominous tension that sinks deep into his bones. He is about to pull Rose close and tell her they should leave when she catches his gaze. Her eyes are wide and sparking, eagerness and hope written in her features, and the Doctor finds that he can't disappoint her. He knows he's never been here, knows they need to find their son before any residual rifts in the walls of the universe seal themselves off, if they haven't already. It's been nearly two weeks since the reality bomb. Their time is running out.

He smiles at her and squeezes her hand. "I think so."

Her answering grin is infectious, wide and beautiful, and the Doctor finds that some of the icy fear melts as she leads him impatiently down the hillside.

The rushing water pulls him under, twisting him, dragging him deep. He cannot breathe. The cold seeps into his bones, deadly and terrible. He fights, but the water pins him down, icy fingers wrapping around his heart. It calls his name as it consumes him, claiming him for its own.

Something warm caresses his face, and the water reluctantly releases its hold on him.

"Dex."

Dex startles awake. He is drenched in sweat, can feel his heartbeat thrumming in his chest, reverberating through him. But Dex is not afraid, not anymore. The warmth runs gently across his forehead, into his hair and back again. It is solid and safe, and Dex moves unconsciously toward it, sighing softly.

The warmth pulls away, and Dex blinks his eyes open. The Doctor is sitting on the edge of his bed, brow etched with concern. When Dex's eyes meet his, he stiffens slightly, appears uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, much more collected now, but Dex can still see the worry deep in his eyes. "I didn't mean to wake you." He swallows, eyes darting around the room, avoiding Dex's gaze. He shifts, moves away, "I'll just-"

Dex grabs his hand. "It's fine."

The Doctor pauses, half-off the bed. He watches Dex carefully, considering.

Dex gives him a sleepy smile. "Mum used to do that," he mumbles. "Check on me at night. I don't mind."

The Doctor sighs heavily. He'd been tinkering with the TARDIS, just attempting to pass the time, when he'd had an overwhelming urge to make sure Dex was okay. He knew Dex was asleep in his room, knew they were safe in the vortex, but suddenly, he needed to believe, needed to see for himself. It was only a silly impulse, but it was unshakeable, the need, and he'd found himself poking his head into Dex's door twice that night. The second time, Dex had been writhing and thrashing, moaning and calling out, and the Doctor had felt his hearts clinch with sympathy. He'd immediately sat beside Dex, brushing his hand gently across his forehead in an effort to comfort him, coaxing him out of the nightmare. The Doctor hadn't anticipated Dex waking up.

He isn't sure what to do next. He squeezes Dex's hand. "Alright?" He has to make sure.

Dex nods. "Nightmare. M'fine."

The Doctor wonders what Rose would do in this situation. She would have been fantastic, he thinks with a stab of deep regret. He wishes fiercely that she were here, that he could have them both, thinks how domestic it would be, thinks he really wouldn't mind. He winces. He will never outlive the scathing, defensive comment of a lifetime ago, spoken out of fear and secret longing, regrets it with all his hearts. She'd never forgotten. He sees Dex watching him curiously, the little face so like hers, and he has never felt so at a loss. We need her, he thinks. The answer finally comes to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks haltingly, feeling a bit overwhelmed by his own inadequacy.

Dex nearly nods. He does want to talk about it, about the water and the fear and the grief, and so, so many other things. But he knows that he cannot, will not put the Doctor through that. It is too soon. He shakes his head.

"Right." The Doctor rises, makes his way to the door, and stops. The watches Dex for a long moment, seems to be considering. He sighs. "Good night, Dex." His eyes are dark with some emotion that Dex cannot place.

Dex smiles at him. "G'night, Doctor."

The Doctor silently closes the door to Dex's room. Dex does not sleep for a long time.

Nathan huddles against a broken tree trunk at the edge of the circle of soldiers. They are laughing at him. Sometimes, the men ignore him, but mostly, Nathan is the brunt of the jokes, left on the outside as the men take their supper, given the difficult labor when their platoon makes camp.

Nathan is young to have been enlisted, barely 15. Most of the others are in their late teens and twenties, had already earned the black hooded cloaks that marked them as personal soldiers of Father Eleazar. Nathan has not, but he knows that the men will take him seriously as soon as he does.

War had raged for nearly a year now. It had all started when the gifted had instituted a new leader, a foreigner that Father Eleazar referred to as the Destroyer. The gifted had planted the Destroyer in the Dome to act as a spy, but Father Eleazar, in his wisdom, had uncovered the plot and captured him. Father Eleazar had offered mercy and forgiveness, if only the Destroyer would break from the gifted and use his influence to spread peace instead of war. But the Destroyer denied him, and soon after, the gifted had helped him escape. Once freed, the Destroyer had broken into Karphelox's emergency arsenal and detonated a bomb, which had desolated half of the city and caused many deaths. The Destroyer had slipped away in the night, never to be seen since, but the gifted had rallied in numbers and fought with renewed strength. Father Eleazar had declared war, had said that there would be no peace until the Destroyer had been annihilated and the gifted brought to justice.

Though Father Eleazar claimed that victory was near, Nathan had heard rumblings within the ranks. The gifted were rumored to be closing in. Even now, Nathan's platoon is camped right on the edge of the city.

Nathan wonders how the men can be so ungrateful to Father Eleazar. He'd picked up a broken and war-torn Karphelox and set it to rights. There had been 13 wonderful, prosperous years of peace because of Father Eleazar's kindness and wisdom, and there will be again once the Destoryer has been vanquished. Nathan thinks that the men are just afraid of battle. He trusts Father Eleazar; the kind man had taken him in when he'd been abandoned by his parents at nine years old. Nathan cannot remember much before Father Eleazar had rescued him; Father Eleazar says that sometimes the mind can erase traumatic events from the memory as a way of protecting itself. Nathan is glad that Father Eleazar had found him when he did.

Father Eleazar had taken him to a home for other abandoned children, had given him his own room and a soft bed. He'd visited Nathan often, called him "my favorite child." He always told Nathan that his big blue eyes were the most intelligent he'd ever seen. Nathan always hated to see Father Eleazar leave.

Just a month ago, on his 15th birthday, Nathan had come to Father Eleazar and asked to be enlisted as a soldier. "I want to help you," he'd said sincerely.

Father Eleazar had smiled softly at him. "My Nathan," he'd said, proudly. "You always were my favorite. I wish there had been more like you."

Nathan had swollen with pride, and Father Eleazar had introduced him to his platoon the next morning.

Now, they were camped at the edge of the city, near the front lines of the battle. Nathan, as always, had sat on the edge of the circle of men, listening in on their conversations and pretending to belong.

One of the officers had begun passing out rations; Nathan waits patiently for his. He is always last to receive his food. The officer stands in front of Nathan and holds open his empty bag.

"Sorry, runt. Seems I'm all out tonight."

The men laugh, and Nathan hangs his head. He knows he'd seen the officer slip an extra ration to one of the men, but he dare not say anything. He had eaten this morning.

"Nathan."

Nathan turns to see Sebastian, his platoon's commanding officer, gesturing to him. He stands and approaches him, trying his best to appear confident. "Sir?"

Sebastian glares down at him with poorly disguised contempt. "Why haven't you eaten?"

Nathan squirms. He knows it will be suicide to call out the officer who'd given away his ration. "I'm not hungry, sir," he says haltingly.

Sebastian sniffs. "Shall I inform Father Eleazar that his efforts do not satisfy your demands?"

Nathan shakes his head, looking at the ground. "No, sir," he says quietly.

Sebastian smiles wolfishly. "You'll have one week of sentry duty for your insolence, beginning tonight. Relieve Victor of his post. Perhaps this will teach you to mind your manners."

Nathan nods and dips his head in the proper show of respect. Sentry duty was the worst punishment for a soldier; it was lonely and dangerous. There would be no fire, no protection, sleepless nights without company. Nathan feels a stone drop in the pit of his stomach. He turns, making his way to the lookout, approximately half a mile from camp.

"Nathan."

Sebastian is glaring at him now, eyes cold and vicious. "You will get no special treatment here."

Nathan nods and walks into the night.

They are near the bottom of the hill now, making their way below a rocky ledge, when Rose stops. "Can you hear that?" she asks, laying a hand on the Doctor's chest.

"Wha-" he starts, is cut off by a high pitched whistle. He barely has time to register the sound before he is thrown into the air. There is a thunderous boom that reverberates through his bones, leaves his ears ringing, and he crashes into the rocky ground with a rough slap. He instinctively curls in on himself, wraps his arms around his head. He can feel the pounding shower of rock on his back, the sharp sting as larger stones fall on him. Slowly, the debris lessens, and the Doctor takes inventory of his body. He seems to have escaped significant injury; he has several deep bruises, and two lacerations that will scar if he can't get to proper medical treatment. He sits up slowly and takes in the dusty air, the absolute silence. It is too quiet.

"Rose?"

She doesn't answer. He scrambles to his feet, frantically scanning the landscape, panic constricting his thoughts. "Rose?"

He hears a soft hiss behind him. He turns, adrenaline burning through his body. There is a soft puff, and then the air around him explodes into thick, green gas.

The gas is sickly sweet, coating his nose and throat, seeping into his lungs and thickening there. He coughs, sputters. He stumbles forward, blind, reaching his arms out and holding his breath. There is only the swirling cloud of green.

Slowly, it clears, and the Doctor breathes again. Inconvenient, the lack of a respiratory bypass, but he quickly sets about metabolizing whatever substance had been in the cloud.

He can see a few feet in front of him now, has stopped hacking enough to speak. "Rose?" he calls, voice hoarse and cracked.

There is only silence. Panic grips his hearts, and he is running, an all out sprint to the place that she'd been standing last. He calls her name frantically. Horrific images pass through his mind, each more gruesome than the first, and he realizes that he is shaking. He cannot lose her.

He is clambering over a pile of loose stones when he hears a soft groan. He whirls around in time to see her standing. He is overcome with relief, runs to her. "Are you alright?" he asks her gravely, hesitantly running his fingers across her face.

She nods. She is pale and shaken, but otherwise seems fine. She rubs her head. "Must have blacked out," she murmurs, then looks at him, confused. "What happened?"

He pulls her gently into a hug, mindful of how sore she will be from being thrown onto the rocky ground. She sighs into him and he presses his lips onto her head. "It was a bomb," he grates into her hair, voice raw from the gas and his panic. "I think I landed us in the middle of a war zone."

She twitches her mouth into a half-smile. "Not the first time," she says quietly. She doesn't laugh.

He caresses her back. "We can't stay here," he says softly.

She snaps her head up at him, wincing, eyes angry and adamant. "We've gotta find Dex!"

He sighs. "We won't find him if we're both blown to bits on an alien battle field," he says wisely.

She nods. She supposes he has a point. "M'kay."

He looks at her, surprised. He'd expected more of a fight. "You sure you're alright?" he asks, brow knit with concern.

She smiles reassuringly at him. "Yeah, just a headache. I'll be fine." She reaches up and gingerly runs her hand across her head.

The Doctor looks at her closely. She looks normal, nothing amiss. He smiles back at her. "I'll fix that once we get to the TARDIS."

Her grin widens, and he grabs her hand and activates the vortex manipulator.

Nothing.

He whips out the sonic and runs a diagnostic. He curses and throws the vortex manipulator to the ground. Whatever had been in the gas had completely fried all of the circuits; it would take hours of tedious work to fix.

"Problem?" she asks lightly.

He rolls his eyes and bends down to pick up the vortex manipulator that is lying where he'd thrown it in anger. "This isn't a quick-fix," he sighs, taking her hand. "I'm going to need hours."

She nods. "C'mon. Lets get out of here."

The Doctor squeezes her hand gently. He couldn't agree more.


	23. Chapter 22

The Doctor is tinkering with the TARDIS when he hears the steady clack of crutches on the grating. He looks up as Dex hobbles into the console room. He is scowling, hair askew from sleep, eyes bleary and hard with contempt. It is so achingly familiar, the early morning grumpiness, the pursed lips and the baleful expression. The Doctor smiles fondly. Today is going to be a good day, he can feel it in his bones.

Dex does not return his grin. He never pauses, thumping up to the Doctor. "I want you to look at my foot," he says without preamble.

The Doctor barely suppresses a laugh, looking down at Dex instead, eyes dancing with amusement. He isn't sure why he is so inexorably happy today. "Good morning to you, too."

Dex sighs heavily, leaning on his crutches. "Mornin'," he groans, more out of duty than actual sentiment. He'd had another long, sleepless night. He cannot sleep without dreaming, and the splint is hot and itchy. He wants it off. "Can you look at it, please? It feels better."

The Doctor good-naturedly rolls his eyes. "'Course it does," he says, devoting most of his attention to the temporal stabilizer, which seems to be jammed. He gives it a good tug. "Your supplements have an analgesic in them."

Dex lightly taps the Doctor's calf with the tip of a crutch. The Doctor starts and looks at him questioningly. "Please," Dex whines, gazing at the Doctor with wide green eyes.

Rassilon, what is it about those eyes? "Alright," he finds himself saying. He wraps his hands firmly around the lever and heaves, mentally cursing the temperamental nature of Type 40 TARDSISes. "But first let me-"

The temporal stabilizer gives suddenly, sending the Doctor sprawling to the floor. He can feel the TARDIS's smug amusement in the back of his mind, shoves her out forcefully.

He stands and brushes himself nonchalantly, fighting to keep his remaining shreds of dignity, and cocks an eyebrow at Dex. "Med bay, then?" he asks lightly.

Dex is fighting giggles, eyes shining, lips twitched and dimples showing. The Doctor watches him, thinks that his pride is a small price to pay for the glow that lights Dex's face. He can't help but crack a grin. Nothing is going to ruin this day. He pointedly rolls his eyes at the time rotor. "Come on," he sniffs in mock indignation, making his way across the grating. He smiles when he hears Dex dissolve behind him.

They had been trekking across the rocky terrain for nearly an hour when the Doctor hears Rose stumble behind him. He turns abruptly, shocked to see how far behind she is. She carefully picks herself up as he runs to her.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he pulls her to his chest. She is far too pale.

"M'fine," she mumbles, leaning heavily into him. Her breaths are quick and shallow. "Just need to sit."

He helps her gently to the ground. He realizes that she'd been silent for a long while. He hadn't noticed, was too busy picking a trail out of the littered ground. He runs his fingers lightly across her cheek, noting how cold her skin is, how pale. She is hurt, he realizes, icy stab of dread piercing his heart.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, voice harsh with panic.

"Did," she slurs. He is ripping off her jacket, frantically searching for the wound. She is losing blood. "Headache."

His fingers stop their desperate search and he freezes, realizing abruptly what is happening. Cerebral hemorrhage. She is bleeding out, brain swelling in response to the increased pressure in her skull. He is losing her, and there is not a thing he can do about it.

He gently wraps his arms around her, pressing his lips into her forehead. Why hadn't he checked? "Rose-"

"S'not your fault," she mumbles, and he does not bother correcting her. He doesn't want her last moments to be an argument of blame. He kisses her lightly, inhaling deeply, taking in the scent of her, the softness of her cheek against his neck. "I'm so sorry," he breathes.

"Idiot," she slurs, and he nearly laughs at the ridiculousness. Even now, she is so painfully Rose.

"I love you," he tells her simply, fiercely. He feels her smile into his neck.

A tremor runs through her, and he shudders in response. He does not have long. Automatically, his fingers run down her arm and settle into the groove of her wrist, below her palm. Her pulse flutters frantically, soft and thready and far, far too fast. It stutters oddly, almost as if-

A sharp tingle runs across his fingers and he starts, looks down in surprise. Little flames of gold dance across Rose's hand, flickering across her knuckles and shimmering up her wrists.

He stares, spellbound. Impossible.

He can feel it now, the familiar burn of the regeneration energy as it builds, rolling across her skin in glowing waves. He instinctively lays her down and moves away, in a daze. He can't quite believe his eyes.

He watches, wide eyed and open mouthed, as Rose explodes into brilliant golden flame.

The Doctor gently removes Dex's splint, shocked at the change. Dex's ankle looks normal now. The swelling is gone, the only sign of injury the slight yellow discoloration below his ankle. The Doctor runs the scanner across Dex's foot.

He gazes at the monitor intently. Dex's fracture is completely fused; the hard callus is beginning to lay down proper bone. Dex's ligaments still need stabilization, but he should be able to walk now, with proper support.

The Doctor tries to recall the last time he used the osteoregenerator on a human. He thinks that Dex's speedy recovery is unnatural, even with the acceleration of 47th century technology. He glances at Dex, considers running some tests, but Dex is watching him curiously, intelligent eyes burning with questions. He pushes the thought aside. Nothing is going to ruin this day.

He smiles down at Dex. "We can get rid of those crutches, now." Dex makes a happy sound of approval and attempts to slide off the cot. The Doctor catches him. "You still have to wear the splint," he says, amused at Dex's impatience.

Dex's shoulders slump and he sighs dejectedly. "Really?" he whines.

The Doctor cocks an eyebrow at him. "It's only been three days, you know," he reminds Dex. He can't imagine life in the TARDIS if Dex had spent six weeks in a plaster cast.

"Yeah," Dex groans as the Doctor carefully wraps his foot in the splint. He hops off the cot and grabs the crutches, gleefully crossing the room and tossing them deep into the supply closet. He closes the door emphatically.

The Doctor leans against the countertop, content to watch Dex move freely about the room on two legs. He is relieved that things are back to normal.

Dex scampers over to him and wraps his arms around the Doctor's waist. The Doctor nearly chokes at the unexpected gesture. "What was that for?" He is not complaining.

Dex shrugs. "Because," he says simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

The Doctor laughs and pulls him into a proper hug.

"We should go to Buroosh," he says cheerfully, straightening. "They've got the most amazing chocolates."

Dex is staring at him pointedly.

"Oh, I know!" the Doctor continues. "I haven't taken you to Vilengard yet. Best bananas in the universe! Good source of potassium, bananas-"

"Doctor."

The Doctor knows what Dex is going to say. He doesn't want to have this conversation, not now. He is having such a good day.

"Didn't you say you always wanted to meet Jonas Salk?"

"We have to go back," says Dex.

"Yeah, but do we have to do that now? We can wait a couple of days. I can take you to the world premier of The Fellowship of the Ring!" the Doctor suggests hopefully.

Dex nearly rolls his eyes. The movies were terrible, anyway. If the Doctor had offered to take him to meet Tolkien, on the other hand- He forces himself to focus. This is important. "We have to go now," he says firmly.

The Doctor looks at Dex, standing in front of him, arms folded stubbornly across his chest, feet planted squarely on the ground, hard determination written on his face. He is sharply reminded of something, but for all of his lives, cannot remember what. He lets the thought die. It is obvious that Dex will not let this go, will argue until he is red in the face. The Doctor caves.

"Fine," he sighs, and Dex nods solemnly, as if he is proud of the Doctor for coming to the right decision.

"Don't think you're dropping me off on Earth, either," he says.

The Doctor blinks. He had been thinking exactly that, considering whether it would be best to contact Martha or Sarah Jane. "Dex-" he starts.

Dex does not allow him to finish. "I know you want me safe," he says softly, looking at the Doctor gravely. "But you can't just leave me. What if something happens to you? You'll never come back, and I will never know." His eyes are wide with fear at the thought.

The Doctor drops to his knees and looks Dex in the eye. "What would you have me do, then?" he asks seriously. "I won't take you with me. It's too dangerous."

"I'll stay in the TARDIS," answers Dex promptly.

The Doctor shoots him a skeptical glance, "Dex-"

"I will. I promise." He looks at the Doctor, all honest green eyes, solemn and full of resolve. The Doctor knows he is telling the truth.

"Fine," he breathes, shooting the TARDIS a mental request to lock the doors behind him. However earnest Dex may be, he is still Rose Tyler's son, and the Doctor will take no chances.  
Dex grips his hand tightly, and they head for the console room, the Doctor fighting fiercely to tame the dread that is settling into his hearts.


	24. Chapter 23

The Doctor crawls next to Rose and settles beside her, gently brushing the hair off her face with his fingertips. He is relieved that she is the same, still his Rose. He snuggles into the crook of her shoulder, counting her breaths - normal, now - and listening to the gentle thrumming of her heart. Hearts, he realizes, surprised that he is shocked. She had, after all, just regenerated right in front of him.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to be comforted by the soft rush of her breathing. His mind is spinning out of control. He realizes that this must be the reason she'd been able to conceive Dex. He wonders how longs she's known, and why she hasn't told him, wonders if it has anything to do with him being mostly human now. He cringes at the thought.

He remembers how Rose had seemed unaffected by the vortex manipulator. As a Gallifreyan, she'd be much more resistant to the temporal radiation of the time vortex, a grace he'd lost with the metacrisis.

He wonders how long she's been this way, thinks with dread the he knows the answer. Why hasn't he noticed? Of course, there'd been the immediate crisis of the regeneration, but afterward, well, he thinks he should have realized that the woman he'd been shagging was changing her species right in front of his nose. He shakes his head. Idiot.

He laughs suddenly at the beautiful, terrible irony of the universe. Here she is, all he'd ever wanted, able to give him forever, and now it is his life that is a mere breath compared to hers. The laugh turns suddenly into a fit of hacking coughs. Slowly, he settles, breathing as deeply as he can, and curls back into her. It doesn't matter, he thinks. He'd had the last two weeks with her, happier than he had been in all of his lives, and he is not going to worry about silly things like lifespans right now.

He runs a finger lightly over her cheek and waits for her to wake. They need to have a talk.

Rose blinks awake, finds the Doctor wrapped tightly around her. She squirms, realizes she is laying on rocky ground in the open air. She turns to the Doctor, grinning, tongue between her teeth.

"Are we having a kip, then?" She cannot remember how they got here, but she knows it must be an interesting story. It always is, with them.

He is looking at her, propped on his elbows, brown eyes impossibly dark, face unreadable. "Rose." His voice is low and serious.

She blinks, unsure how to react to the sudden intensity.

He sees the confusion on her face, reaches over and cups her cheek tenderly in his had. "How long have you known?" he asks softly, eyes soft and understanding.

She crinkles her brow. "Known what?"

He sees her bewilderment, the furrowed brow and the beginnings of fear in her eyes, and he swallows. She hadn't known. He breathes deeply, breath catching in his lungs. He clears his throat. Rassilon, things could never be simple. He sits up, and she mirrors him as he takes her hand.

"Rose, you just-" he breaks off, decides it's best to just say it. "You just regenerated."

She stares at him blankly.

He tries again. "Rose, you just went through a regeneration cycle. You just renewed all of the cells in your body. Like... like me."

He sees the information sink in, sees the very moment the pieces click into place. She stares at him in disbelief, but her hands fly up to her face.

He can see the panic building in her eyes, reaches to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly. "It's alright," he says, a bit helplessly. He thought it had been difficult to explain his regeneration to her. "You're still you." He sighs, reaches up and scratches his neck. "I mean, you still look the same, that is. You didn't change." He swallows. "You just..." He waves his hands, at a loss. "Regenerated."

She is staring at him open-mouthed.

He squirms. "You really didn't know?" he squeaks, nearly choking on his own inadequacy.

She shakes her head. He is starting to get concerned. She still hasn't spoken. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. The words will not quite come out. "Explain from the beginning, please," she rasps finally.

He nods, coughs, grabs her hand, looking her carefully in the eyes. "Rose, your biology has changed," he says slowly, and her eyes widen just a tiny bit. "I think it started when you opened the heart of the TARDIS. Something you did made your DNA shift. It must have happened slowly, because I never noticed." She gives a tiny nod, and he continues. "You became..." he pauses, unsure of how she will react to the next bit. "You became Gallifreyan, like me."

She cocks her head, staring at him intently, brow furrowed as if deep in thought. "Hold on," she says slowly, raising her hands to her chest. "You mean, for the past ten years or so, I've been walking around with two hearts?"

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Gallifreyans are born with only one heart; they get the second after their first regeneration." He pulls the fingers of her right hand and gently rests them in the groove of her left wrist, allowing her to feel the odd, double-beated rhythm.

She stares at her hands, fascinated, and he watches the emotions flicker across her face. There is confusion, fear, awe. He doesn't see any of the anger or revulsion that he'd feared; in fact, he thinks he may see relief.

She frowns. "I just regenerated?" she asks, suddenly snapping her head up and gazing intently at the Doctor.

He nods. "Yeah."

Her brow furrows. "Did I die?"

He turns away, tries to hide behind a mask of collected indifference, but she sees right through him. She squeezes his hands and slides close to him. He can feel the heat of her against his skin. "Hey," she says softly, laying a hand gently on his cheek. He reluctantly meets her eyes. "Tell me what happened," she says gently.

He takes a shaky breath, feels his lungs rattle in his chest. He clears his throat. "You remember the bomb?" he asks, hoarsely.

She scrunches up her face. "Think so. S'all a bit fuzzy after that." She can only recall the sharp hammering deep in her head.

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Cerebral hemorrhage." She raises her eyebrows in silent acceptance. "You were dying, in my arms," he continues bluntly. "You called me an idiot, and then you just... regenerated." His voice is low and thick.

She nudges him on the shoulder and he looks up at her, startled. She is smiling softly at him, hair glowing golden in the afternoon sunlight, and he is struck by how beautiful she is. "S'alright," she says seriously. "I'm here, and we're fine."

He laughs, mostly out of sheer relief to have her here, solid and pink and golden and smiling. He collapses into her shoulder and lets her run her hands across his back, content to just be, to take in her scent and her warmth and the soft woosh of her pulse against his cheek. She cards her fingers gently though his hair, and a happy sound of approval rumbles deep in his throat. She sighs heavily and he shifts, looks up at her.

"Dex will regenerate, then?" she asks seriously, eyes large and full of concern.

He sits up, takes her hand. "Yeah," he says quietly, running his thumb across her knuckles.

She nods. "Thought he wouldn't, you know. Being half-human and with only one heart an' all." She furrows her brow. "Don't suppose he is half-human," she says slowly, as if the thought had just now occurred to her.

He shakes his head. "I don't think so," he says, gently squeezing her hand. He raises his eyebrows. "Certainly explains a few things." He grins pointedly at her.

She laughs, and he hums happily at the sound. She nudges his shoulder. "Suppose you ought to check your research before you go spoutin' claims like, 'impossible,'" she says, tongue between her teeth.

"Oi!" He laughs. "Didn't think you were going to go rewriting your biology."

She pokes him in the ribs with her elbow, and he gives a sputtering cough. She glances at him, concerned, before continuing. "We like impossible, yeah?" She leans her head on his shoulder.

He nearly chokes at her simple statement. "Yeah," he agrees roughly, laying a gentle kiss in her hair.

They sit in silence for a moment, leaning on each other. "Why didn't I change?" Rose asks suddenly.

"Oh." He hadn't thought to explain it to her, wasn't positive himself. "I won't know for sure until I can run some tests," he says, scratching his neck, "but I think you just don't have the extra DNA."

She looks at him blankly. He sighs, prepares for a lecture.

"Time Lords haven't always regenerated," he explains slowly. She watches him intently. "It evolved as a survival mechanism, a way to maximize the gene pool within a limited population." He pauses, waiting for her approval to continue.

She crinkles her nose. "Why was your population limited?"

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "It's all ancient history, but supposedly there was an outbreak of a virus on Gallifrey, Chen 7. They called it the 'one day plague.'" He shrugs. "Decimated the population. There was no way to contain it; it mutated very quickly. By the time it was eradicated, there were only a handful of survivors. The obvious answer, of course, is regeneration."

She is still staring at him, brow furrowed slightly. He scratches his neck and continues, "You know how there are thousands of possibilities within your genetics? Each egg, each sperm, carries a different code, slightly different DNA." She nods and he continues. "Gallifreyan cells carry each of these possibilities, stored away in our cells, a third strand of DNA." He pauses, tries to think of a better way to explain. "Imagine all of the possibilities you could inherit from just your mother." He shudders, thankful that Rose had turned out exactly as she had. "Now think of every trait that could be passed on from her and your father, from their parents and theirs and theirs. Imagine storing them all." Her eyes go wide at the prospect, and he nearly laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "That's our third strand of DNA. Instead of dying, we access it, and all of our cells are rewritten." He raises his eyebrows and smiles. "Neat trick, really. Increases the lifespan and also stocks the gene pool."

"So," he says, nudging her shoulder and smiling at her. "You were human. You didn't have a third strand of DNA. You rewrote your biology, changed your species, but you didn't give yourself the extra baggage." He leans over and kisses her temple. "Not that I'm complaining."

She sighs and leans into him. "So, I'll be this way forever," she says slowly.

His face breaks into a mad grin, chocolate eyes sparkling. "Yup!" he says, happily popping the 'p.' "Just. Like. This." he murmurs, punctuating each word with a kiss. He doesn't care that she will outlive him by centuries, he is just glad to have her with him now.

She pushes him away gently. "What about you?" she asks sadly, as if she'd sensed his thought.

He rolls his eyes and groans. "Rose-"

"But you're human!" she wails, and he takes the opportunity to nuzzle into her neck.

"And you're gorgeous," he murmurs into her skin, nipping the sensitive area just below her jaw that makes her moan. She really is missing the point.

She shudders, and he smiles into her neck. He can feel her weakening. "We've got today, yeah?" she breathes into his ear.

"Exactly," he rasps, and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him to her.


	25. Chapter 24

Rose shrugs into her blue leather jacket and takes the Doctor's hand. They start silently down the hill in search of the TARDIS. The Doctor is uneasy. They've stayed stationary for far too long.

He follows Rose now, doing his best not to lag behind. She is bursting with energy, cells still buzzing from the regeneration, and she navigates the rough terrain easily, pulling ahead of him. She notices, turns back, laughing, and grabs his hand. "Run!" she whispers, eyes sparkling, and she takes off, dragging him behind her. He follows happily, stretching his legs and allowing her to take the lead, silky hair whipping in the wind. It is like flying, he thinks, and his heart swells. He's never been happier.

He wants it to never end, soaring over the rocky ground with her, hand in hand, legs pumping and heart pounding and lungs burning. He takes deep breathes, compensating for the lack of the respiratory bypass that had made this so much easier in the past. He doesn't mind, decides that he will happily spend the rest of his life fighting to keep up with this pink and yellow girl who'd stolen his hearts so long ago.

The breath catches in his lungs and he stops abruptly, struggling against the sudden absence of oxygen. He leans over, hands on knees, and hacks, great heaving coughs that come from deep in his chest, aching and wheezing. He cannot pull in enough air. It scares him, the unfamiliar emptiness, and he kneels, retching, stains the dusty grey rock red for his efforts. He studies it, the frothy blood from deep in his lungs, realization dawning with horror. He closes his eyes and breathes as deeply as he can, feels the raw rattle in his chest. He needs to get to the TARDIS.

He sees Rose watching him, brow furrowed in concern. He stands quickly and smiles, smearing the blood into the dust with his trainer. She doesn't need to know.

"Are you alright?" she asks, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. It was so strange to see him cough, made him so vulnerable, so human, that for a moment, when he'd let go of her hand, she'd frozen. His face is a bit pale. He is standing now and smiling at her, but his gaze is burning, so keen and dark that the breath is knocked out of her. It is all written in those ancient brown eyes, all of his fear and passion and love, and she is overwhelmed by it.

He stares at her as she stands before him, washed in the warm glow of the alien sunset, hair glistening, amber eyes wide and sparkling with emotion. He notices the way her skin seems to shine, sees the planes and curves of her body, soft and lean and perfect, feels the heat rolling off of her, catalogs the citrus of her shampoo and gentle curve of her pink lips. He stares, enraptured. She is the most beautiful creature in the universe, his golden girl, and he drinks her in, searing her into his memory and locking it in his heart.

He moves suddenly, flings his arms around her and crushes her to him, murmuring something that she thinks might be Gallifreyan. She isn't quite sure what is going on, but she is struck by the overwhelming intensity of it, raw and terrible and beautiful, and she shudders in response. He falls silent, acutely aware of the pressure of her body against his. He is suddenly allowed a glimpse into a timeline that is not his own, temporal abilities that had been lost and muddled since the metacrisis briefly restored by some last gift of the universe. Images of her future pour into his head, and in that one shining moment, he loves her more than he had ever thought possible, is so proud, so relieved, so overjoyed that it is uncontainable. He holds her close, feels the steady thumping of her hearts against his, and he is content with the universe, more alive, more free than he's ever been. As it should be, he thinks.

"Rose Tyler, do you know that I love you?"

He feels her stiffen just a tiny bit. He doesn't say it often.

She pulls back and gazes at him. His eyes are dark and wet, but he is smiling like she's never seen him smile before. It is not the mad, enthusiastic grin that she remembers from before she fell, nor the half-smile that he often flashes when his eyes are far away. This is peace and contentment and true happiness, free of guilt and regret and worry and burdens. He nearly glows with it, the untempered joy, and it is so new and strange that she cannot speak.

The moment is interrupted by the clattering of stones as large man sprints down the hill to their right. He nearly barrels into them, swerving at the last second and gripping the Doctor's arm.

"Get out of here!" he shouts, and the Doctor grabs Rose's hand, and they run.

They follow the man for a short distance. He is running at a flat out sprint, kicking up dust and sending pebbles flying. The Doctor can sense the danger, though he isn't sure of the cause, grips Rose's hand tightly and focuses on his breathing, or the lack thereof.

He thinks he can follow no further when the man leaps off a ledge. There is no time to gauge the distance of the ground below; the Doctor jumps, pulling Rose behind him.

It is only a short fall, maybe 12 feet, and the Doctor lands hard, skidding on the loose rock, hears Rose do the same. He does not see the man.

Firm hands pull him from behind. "Get down," the man hisses, and they follow his example, huddling against the rock face with their hands over their heads. There is a tremor in the ground, a shuddering boom that vibrates through his bones, then silence. The Doctor takes a moment to control his breathing; his lungs ache with the effort, and he can't quite move all the air he needs to. There is the soft, steady patter of dust and pebbles, occasionally punctuated by the heavy thud of large stones.

Eventually, the shower of debris slows to scattered tapping on the ground around them, and the man sits up. The Doctor is still fighting for air, breaths quick and shallow. He flops over, head against the rock, and watches the man. He is large and relatively young, long blonde hair hanging disheveled in his face. The Doctor thinks he may have been handsome once, but now an ugly, mottled scar stretches from below his left eye, marring his jawline and disappearing into his shirt. He is gazing at the Doctor with obvious suspicion.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice hard and tight.

The Doctor exchanges a concerned glance with Rose. She is looking at him, waiting for him to answer, as he always does. He turns to the man and flashes his innocent, ignorant tourist face. "We were just passing through," he says, eyes wide, and he hopes, honest.

The man laughs coldly. "There are no tourists on Karphelox. Who are you?"

The Doctor decides, given the suspicion of this man's gaze and the fragility of his current condition, that he'd rather not waste the effort of lying. He grabs Rose's hand and squeezes. "I'm the Doctor, and this is Rose Tyler. We're travelers."

The man's eyes turn sharp and probing. "The Doctor?" he asks, incredulously.

"Yes," says the Doctor slowly, wondering if this is a good thing, and how to navigate the situation if it isn't.

The man's eyes go wide, and he dips his head in respect. "Elliot, sir," he says reverently. "It's an honor."

"Right," the Doctor muses. It is a welcome change from the usual death threat and ensuing sprint to the TARDIS, but he is unsure how to react. Rose squeezes his hand, and he knows that she is holding back laughter. He doesn't think it's funny; his emotions are tangled and he can't quite focus, only knows he needs to keep her safe.

There is a moment of heavy silence, each man staring at the other. Rose holds back a snort. It is nearly comical, Elliot staring at the Doctor expectantly, clearly waiting for him to speak, the Doctor at a complete loss, eyes darting helplessly between Elliot and Rose. Though part of her wants to leave them to it, to let the Doctor sweat it out a bit longer, she steps forward and saves him.

"So, Elliot, was it?" Elliot turns his gaze to her and nods. "What was it that you were doing, exactly?" She waves her hand in the direction from which they'd come and looks at him curiously, sees the Doctor's grateful glance out of the corner of her eye. Her lips twitch into a tiny, smug smile and she squeezes his hand. Honestly, how had he survived without her?

Elliot's eyes flicker to the Doctor. "I was only finishing what you started, sir," he answers promptly.

"G-good," the Doctor stutters, nodding absently and wondering what exactly he had started and how he could fix it.

For a moment, Elliot's face glows with pride, but his expression quickly turns serious again. "We cannot stay here," he cautions. "Eleazar's troops will regroup soon, if they haven't already. The war may be won, but his armies remain. It is unwise to stand in the open."

The Doctor nods, agreeing wholeheartedly. He wants Rose out of danger. Elliot takes off at a brisk pace, stopping to listen occasionally and keeping out of view as much as he can. Rose and the Doctor follow him silently.


	26. Chapter 25

Elliot leads them to the mouth of a small cave, nearly hidden in the rocks. They enter, leaving footprints on the sandy floor, and Elliot indicates for them to stop, raising his hand and moving silently forward. He disappears down a cliff. The Doctor can hear his footsteps echoing eerily in the darkness, but there is no other sound.

He slides down against the wall of the cave, leans his head back against the rock. He is exhausted. He closes his eyes and breathes heavily, sending sharp, shooting pains across his chest. His breath catches, rattles in his lungs, and he winces, reminds himself not to breathe too deeply.

He feels Rose settle beside him, doesn't have the energy to acknowledge her. She runs a hand over his cheek. "Hey."

His eyes flutter open. She is staring at him, brow furrowed. "What's wrong?" she asks, eyes large and scared.

He smiles at her. "Inferior human biology," he says cheerfully, nudging her shoulder. "I'm just tired." It is partially true.

She gives him a radiant, tongue-touched smile and raises an eyebrow at him. "Inferior?" she teases.

He laughs and pulls her to him, careful to keep her off his chest.

Elliot makes his way into the cave, calling softly to Asher and Mathias, the men he'd left waiting for him. They always moved in small groups; one man would infiltrate Eleazar's ranks, while a few more guarded bridge, the only entrance to the rebel camp.

Elliot hears nothing. He waits in the darkness, but there is only silence. He is not concerned. Often the men would retreat deeper into the cave, avoid the sweltering heat of the dry summer months. There is no sound, no sign of a struggle, and Elliot returns to the mouth of the cave. He will meet them at the bridge.

Elliot pokes his head over the of the rock face. "All clear."

Rose and the Doctor pick their way carefully down the ledge, and follow Elliot into the darkness.

Elliot lights a torch, and the walk silently for a long while. Rose grips the Doctor's hand tightly, watching the flickering shadows dancing along the stone walls. The air is cool and damp, the cave silent except for their pattering footsteps and the occasional drip of water.

Eventually, Rose hears the steady rush of water ahead of them. They round a corner. The passage opens into a large cavern. A wide, deep fissure splits the room, a single, weathered rope bridge spanning the gap. The roar of the water is louder now, and Rose realizes that the sound is coming from the chasm, that there is swift river running below their feet. It is an unsettling thought.

Elliot stalks forward, senses on alert. Asher and Mathias are gone. He reaches the bridge, notices a shred of black below his feet. He bends down, picks up the rag. His heart sinks into his chest. It is the black cloth of the guards of Eleazar. Elliot runs his fingers across the rock floor. It is smooth and solid, there is no sand, no pebbles to leave evidence of a struggle. He scours the ground, finds a smear of blood, as if someone had fallen on the hard stone, likely on their head, Elliot thinks, judging by the size of the stain. There is nothing else.

Cold fear grips him, and his gaze flickers across the bridge, toward the camp. They need to go. Now.

Elliot beckons them, and they follow him into the open cavern. The Doctor squeezes Rose's hand. He does not like the look on Elliot's face, can see the cold fear in his eyes, though Elliot is trying to hide it.

Elliot wrings his hands. "There's been a situation," he says slowly, looking the Doctor gravely in the eye. "I was expecting men to meet me here, and they are gone. We need to get to the camp, quickly."

The Doctor sees the blood, notices the hard edge of Elliot's voice and the way his gaze flickers across the chasm. He is worried for someone, the Doctor realizes. He instinctively pulls Rose closer. He understands, nods. "Right."

Elliot turns to Rose and gestures toward the bridge.

Rose steps silently to the edge and the Doctor grips her hand. "Rose."

She turns to him. His eyes are wide and warm, but his face is etched with concern. "Be careful, please," he whispers into her ear.

She reaches her hands around the back of his head and pulls him down, lightly kissing his forehead. "See you on the other side?" she says, grinning with her tongue between her teeth.

He returns her smile. "Not if I see you first."

She winks at him and steps tentatively onto the bridge. The ropes creak and groan, and Rose walks quickly, carefully looking at the solid ground ahead of her.

She is nearly across, just steps from the edge, when she hears a sharp snap. The left side of the bridge collapses; it lurches and sways, twisting Rose sharply to the left. She automatically leaps forward, hears another crack as her feet leave the wooden planks, is vaguely aware of the Doctor shouting her name. She lands halfway on solid ground, legs and waist hanging off the edge of the cliff.

The Doctor watches as the bridge snaps beneath Rose's feet. It happens quickly, the crack and her leap, the clatter as her end of the bridge falls into the abyss. Not now, please not now. He is frozen, is aware that someone is shouting her name, realizes it must be him. He watches her scramble up the cliff, kicking her legs and straining. The Doctor does not breathe, can only stand, terrified, imagining the fraying of her beautiful timeline, shattering all that had been set in motion. It is all so fragile, and his hearts break for her, for all that she could lose. It is only seconds, but it seems an eternity before she pulls herself to safety, rolling her legs awkwardly over the edge and laying limp on the stone floor, breathing heavily. The Doctor nearly crashes to the ground in relief.

Nobody speaks for an eternity. There is only the rushing of the water and the pounding of their hearts.

"What happened?" calls Elliot finally, and Rose stirs, pulls the broken end of the ropes toward her.

She studies them. They aren't frayed.

"I think they were cut," she shouts over the roar of the water below.

Elliot nods, eyes hard. It was as he suspected, then. Asher and Mathias had been attacked. Someone had attempted to destroy the bridge, to stop the attacker from reaching the camp, but he'd failed, likely killed before he could finish.

"Are you alright?" calls Elliot.

Rose nods, and the Doctor springs to his feet, unaware that he had, in fact, sank to the ground. "How do we get to her?" he demands.

Elliot shakes his head sadly. "We can't," he says softly. "That's the only way."

The Doctor pulls at his hair. "It can't be." He pauses. "Can't we cross the river?"

"Not here," replies Elliot. "The only place where the river is accessible is below the lake in the south cavern, and even then, it's a half-mile swim under the rock. We'd need diving equipment."

Rose watches them, can see that they are discussing something intently. From the way the Doctor is pacing and running his hands fiercely through his hair, she can assume that it's about the broken bridge. He can't get to me, she thinks sadly.

"Elliot," she calls, and he looks across the chasm at her. "Are there supplies to rebuild the bridge at the camp?"

His purses his lips. "Possibly," he says, and the Doctor's eyes light up.

Rose smiles at them. "Right, just tell me where to go."

"Follow the passageway. When it splits, take the left fork. The path winds, but it only splits three times. Left, left, and right. After two miles, you should see another open cavern. There will be people. Ask for Torren. She can help you."

Rose nods. "Left, left, right, Torren," she repeats to herself.

"Rose, be careful. I don't know what happened here," Elliot indicates the bridge. "If you get lost, always take the path that leads up."

Rose turns to the Doctor. He is watching her, stone faced, eyes dark and gaze burning. "Rose," he grates.

She sends him a reassuring smile. "S'okay. I'm coming back."

He returns her grin, though she isn't sure if it meets his eyes. "I know."

With one long, last glance, she turns away, leaving the open cavern behind her.


	27. Chapter 26

Rose makes her way slowly through the cave. There are occasional cracks in the stone that allow some light to filter through, but once, she'd come to a long stretch of darkness. She'd ran one hand lightly along the stone wall, holding the other in front of her, stepping cautiously.

It feels like an eternity, but Rose knows its only been 53 minutes since she'd left Elliot and the Doctor at the chasm. She can feel the passageway starting to open up; there is more light filtering through and the air seems to be circulating now.

She steps into an open chamber, blinking at the sudden light. A man is sitting at the edge of the room. He is small, older, with greying dark hair and kind hazel eyes. He stands when he sees Rose, looks at her curiously.

She clears her throat. "I need to see Torren," she announces, hoping it is the right thing to say. He gives her a questioning look. "I... I have a message," she finishes.

He smiles reassuringly at her, eyes crinkling. "You must be from the north camp," he says kindly. "We don't often get first time visitors."

She nods, remembering Elliot's skepticism when the Doctor had called them travelers.

"I'm Zeke," he says warmly, dipping his head politely.

"Rose," she replies, wondering if she should return the gesture.

He chuckles at her attempt. "Well then, Rose," he says, offering her his arm. "Lets see of we can find Torren, shall we?"

She takes his arm and he leads her through the twisting passages.

Eleazar hides in the shadows, taking in his surroundings.

Finally, he'd found the rebel camp.

Early this morning, one of his guards had informed him that a rebel leader, the blonde man called Elliot, had been seen exiting a cave carrying load of explosives.

It was the lead Eleazar had been waiting for.

He quickly summoned his personal guard and followed his informant to the cave. The men had protested, saying it was too dangerous, but Eleazar had insisted. He would see for himself.

He hadn't anticipated meeting two rebel soldiers at an old bridge over the chasm. Eleazar had lost two of his men, but the rebels had been dispatched. He'd quickly sent last guard to summon one of his remaining platoons. He would storm the rebel camp. The war would be over by morning.

Eleazar had wandered into the passage, just to look ahead while he waited for his reinforcements. He'd quickly become disoriented in the dark, unsure of where to go or from which direction he'd come.

Then there came the girl.

Eleazar could not believe his good fortune. He'd followed her silently, careful to keep a safe distance. He'd almost lost her in a long, dark passage, but had blindly followed the pattering of her feet, relived when they came to a large, open cavern.

Eleazar smiles wolfishly as he carefully follows the blonde woman and the old man into the rebel camp.

The Doctor and Elliot sit in silence. They'd moved back from the chasm, are leaned against the wall near the passageway from which they'd come. The Doctor is focusing on breathing.

It is becoming harder to catch his breath. He almost feels as though he is breathing through a blanket, pulling hard and getting less air. He feels the wet rattle in his lungs with each breath, the sharp pain that comes when inhales too deeply. He is getting anxious. He needs to find the TARDIS, needs to get Rose to the Time Lord, where she belongs. He is running out of time.

He knows he should have told her, would have wanted to know if their roles had been reversed. He had intended to, when he realized what was happening, but the words just would not come. She'd been so happy, running across the rocky ground, teasing and squeezing his hand. She'd had enough on her mind, with Dex and the metacrisis and now her regeneration, that to see her like that, laughing and golden and free, was a miracle, and he would not ruin it.

He turns his mind to the Time Lord. He has been here recently, had apparently started some sort of war. He needs to find him again, soon. He cannot leave Rose here, alone.

He watches Elliot from the corner of his eye, remembers his respect for the Doctor. Elliot trusts him. "Elliot," he says carefully, hoping that he can pull this off. Elliot turns to him. "It's been a long time since I've been to Karphelox."

Elliot nods. "We thought you'd never return," he says honestly. He looks curiously at the Doctor. "Why have you come back?"

The Doctor sighs in relief. This will be easier than he'd though. "Oh, I was just... checking," he says, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. "You know, on how things are... progressing."

Elliot seems unconcerned by his bumbling answer. He nods seriously. "The past year has been difficult," he says somberly. "Your explosion devastated the capitol, but Eleazar still has control of the city. You wiped out half of his troops and most of his supplies, but we were still refugees, still had nothing. His control was shaken, and we took the opportunity you'd given us," he says, eyes shining with pride. "We organized raids, began building our own arsenal of explosives." He smiles. "Eleazar thinks we have an army, but actually, there are just small bands of us. We send out one or two at a time, sneak into his ranks and plant bombs."

"That's what you were doing when we met," the Doctor muses, impressed. It is a simple strategy, but surprisingly effective, given the limited technology and the ignorance of the enemy.

Elliot nods. "We had reason to believe that Eleazar was at the site, visiting his troops." He shakes his head. "He's remained in hiding for most of this year. We've nearly annihilated his army, but while he remains alive, he maintains control of the public, of the children and his guards, and the war is not won," Elliot says sadly.

The Doctor's eyes widen and raises his eyebrows in alarm. Control of the public? Children? "And was he destroyed?"

Elliot shakes his head. "I don't know."

The Doctor runs his hand through his hair. What he really needs is background information, but he isn't sure how to get it, not without blowing his cover and ruining Elliot's trust. Why could nothing ever be simple?

Elliot watches him silently, gaze sharp and probing. "Eleazar is hunting you," he says after a moment. "He's declared you the enemy of Karphelox, named you the Destroyer." He pauses, eyes far away, and the Doctor thinks wryly that it is not the first time he'd earned the name. Elliot continues. "Even my men tell mad stories about you."

The Doctor smiles at Elliot, thankful for his unintentional cooperation. "What do they say?" he asks, genuinely curious.

Elliot returns his smile. "Eleazar seems to think that you're the new rebel leader, that we've recruited a battle scarred general to rally us into a new age of blood and war." The Doctor cocks an eyebrow and nods. Seems that this Eleazar had a good imagination. "My men tell stories of a traveler and the child who'd come to Karphelox by mistake. They were captured by Eleazar, who wanted the child for his telepathic ability. The child escaped, leapt into the river and drowned, and the traveler avenged him, destroying the Dome and fleeing the planet." Elliot pauses. "Only Torren and I know the truth."

The Doctor runs his hands fiercely through his hair. Eleazar was somehow feeding off the telepathic potential of children, probably channeling it to control the will of others. If the Time Lord had been traveling with a child, a telepathic child... He yanks hard at the roots of his hair. It's not adding up. If the Time Lord had Dex, then Rose would already be with him, but Elliot had not mentioned her. 'Leapt into the river and drowned,' Elliot had said. He shakes his head. Can't be Dex. But what other telepathic child would the Time Lord travel with, want to avenge by destroying half a city?

Something cold settles in his chest. He has to know.

Elliot is watching him curiously. His face is open and honest, and the Doctor trusts him. He faces Elliot, eyes dark and somber. "Elliot, I'm a time traveler," he says carefully.

Elliot only nods. He'd already seen the Doctor's ship, the impossible blue box that was bigger on the inside. Time travel isn't a great leap.

The Doctor scratches his neck. "Things... things don't always happen to me in the right order," he says haltingly.

Elliot's brow furrows, and nods again, less eager this time.

The Doctor holds back a sigh. He has a feeling that 'wibbly wobbly, timey-whimey' will not be a sufficient explanation for Elliot. He runs his hand through his hair, which is now sticking up furiously. "The first time I came to Karphelox, when I was captured, when I blew up the Dome," he says slowly. "That hasn't happened for me yet." It is true enough.

Elliot stares at him, blinking. "This is the first time you've come to Karphelox," he says slowly, brow still furrowed.

The Doctor nods. "Yes."

Elliot laughs, remembering the Doctor's baffled expression when Elliot had told him it was an honor to meet him. Things made much more sense, now.

The Doctor grips Elliot's shoulder, gaze dark and intense, and the laughter dies in Elliot's throat.

"Elliot, I need you to tell me about the child. What really happened?"


	28. Chapter 27

Nathan slams his pack into the dirt and falls onto the ground. Sebastian had shoved him hard against a brick wall, and his shoulders are deeply bruised. He huddles against a large rock, wondering what to do next.

He'd been on sentry duty for eight days now, longer than anyone was allowed to be punished. He'd had few meals and little water, had barely slept, snatching a few minutes here and there when the sun was hot in the sky.

He'd missed the rebel attack.

He'd been asleep, hasn't seen the invasion of the rebel forces. Sebastian had called him blind, allowing so many men slip past his notice. They'd planted a bomb, destroyed half the platoon, and now, Father Eleazar was missing.

Nathan felt sick. It was all his fault.

Sebastian had nearly killed him, beating him in the face and throwing him against the stone wall in rage. One of the men had rested a hand on Sebastian's shoulder, and Sebastian had lowered his fist, smiling viciously.

Nathan had been exiled.

Two guards had dragged him by the arms into the wilderness, had abandoned him half a mile from the city. Nathan had been given a knife and a day's ration of water. The nearest city was a three day walk, and Nathan was already dehydrated and injured. He doesn't think he will survive the journey, not in the heat.

He curls into the ground and puts his head in his hands.

Zeke shows Rose the different areas of the camp as they pass by. There are sleeping rooms, a mess hall, even an underground garden. People mill about the cave, each going about their daily jobs. Some are cooking, others cleaning, and some tend the deer-like creatures with shiny black antlers. Rose is impressed. They seem to live well, for refugees.

The passage widens, and Rose sees a small women braiding a little girl's hair. Rose realizes that the girl is the first child she's seen in the refugee camp. She absently wonders why.

"Torren," Zeke calls.

The women ties the little girl's hair and pats her on the shoulder. "All done!" she says cheerfully, and the girl thanks her, skipping out of the passageway. The woman looks up.

Rose is surprised at how young she is, probably barely into her twenties. She is small, almost tiny, with long, brown hair that hangs down her back in a thick braid, but Rose is struck most by her eyes. They are large and alert, a starling shade of blue.

"This is Rose, from the north camp," Zeke says, extending his hand toward Rose. "She brings a message."

Torren's eyes flicker to Rose, and Rose feels as if she is laid bare under the piercing blue gaze. It is only a fleeting glance, but it is unsettling, and Rose flinches unconsciously. Torren is addressing Zeke now.

"Thank you, Zeke."

Zeke dips his head and takes his leave, giving Rose one last, friendly wave.

Torren turns to Rose, and her gaze is sharp, but not unkind. "You aren't from the north camp," she says. It is not an accusation, only a statement of fact.

Rose isn't sure what to say.

Torren notices. "It's okay, I understand. We don't often meet off-worlders, and we tend to greet visitors with suspicion."

Rose just blinks.

Torren smiles apologetically. "Sorry," she says kindly. "I suppose it's strange to have someone pick up your thoughts." She pauses, looking at Rose appraisingly. "You had a message?"

Rose shakes herself out of her stupor. "Yeah," she says slowly. "The bridge is out. Elliot is on the other side."

Torren's face pales slightly. "What happened?"she asks quickly, voice full of concern.

Rose tells her about what they'd found in the cavern, about the sabotaged bridge and the missing men.

Torren shakes her head. "We've seen nothing strange here, but I'll set guards at the front passage."

Rose nods. "What are we going to do about the bridge?"

Torren sighs and shakes her head. "I don't know," she admits reluctantly. "We can't leave them, but there is no other way to the surface, and we don't have the supplies to build a new bridge. Anyway," her shoulders drop, "I don't know how we would. That bridge has been there for generations." She drops to the floor and leans her head against the stone wall of the cave.  
Rose joins her. "Now what?"

Torren sighs. "I don't know." She turns and looks at Rose, studies her intently. "You're familiar," she says finally.

Rose shrugs. "Never been here before," she says simply.

Torren shakes her head. "It's not that," she says slowly. The answer is right there, skirting around the edge of her consciousness, but when she reaches for it, it flits away. She shakes her head. "You aren't human," she says, focusing on that instead.

Rose furrows her brow. Before she can ask, Torren answers. "I'm sorry. I can't help it, you're projecting your thoughts," she says, embarrassed. "It's almost as if you're unfamiliar with your telepathy."

Rose's eyes widen. It hadn't occurred to her that she'd be telepathic now. She wonders if Torren had picked up on that.

Torren laughs. Apparently, she had. Rose wonders why the Doctor hadn't warned her about things like thought projection. It occurs to her that maybe, because he's human now, he isn't telepathic anymore. She isn't sure why the thought makes her so sad.

Torren is staring at her now, brow furrowed, eyes locked intently onto Rose's. "You love two men," Torren says, obviously confused. "The same man, but different."

Rose sighs heavily. That pretty much sums it up. "Yeah, tell me about it," she mutters. As if one Doctor wasn't confusing enough. Strangely, she isn't bothered by Torren picking through her thoughts. She realizes, startled, that she's relieved to have somebody as confused as she is.

Torren smiles gently at her. "We can talk about it, if you want," she offers, blue eyes somber and understanding.

Rose leans her head back against the wall. She thinks it might be nice to get it all out. She runs through the entire dilemma in her mind, realizes that she has no idea how to explain to Torren. "I don't even know where to start," she laughs, overwhelmed by the complexity of the situation.

Torren watches her. "You're scared," she says, after a moment.

"I'm sorry?" says Rose, leaning up and looking curiously at Torren.

"You're scared to tell the other. Why?"

Rose realizes in that moment, though it had never been a conscious thought, that she is scared. It had been much simpler with the human Doctor; there was something about them being equals, something about the fact that forever meant the same thing to them, that made it so much easier with him. She'd ignored the problem of the Time Lord, shoved it to the back of her mind, told herself that it would all work itself out- she loves them both. She remembers the Time Lord's reluctance to admit his feelings, his obvious discomfort at the prospect of settling down, his disdain for all things 'domestic.' He could never sit still, was always bouncing from one interest to the next. He lived exuberantly and loved fiercely, she knew, was a whirlwind of enthusiasm and passion and discovery, but Rose had never seen anything hold his attention for long. He'd never finished that sentence on Bad Wolf Bay. She knew, had always known, never needed the words, but there was something about the way that he would not admit it to himself, could not bring himself to speak it aloud, that shook her to the core. How would he react to being a father, to a child, the only other of his species, who would live as long as he would? Not the only other, Rose realizes suddenly. It has been difficult enough for him to accept a human's forever, mere decades, and even the , Rose hadn't been sure that he would stay interested for that long. She remembers Reinette, Lynda with a 'y,' Sarah Jane, old insecurities long-buried resurfacing with a vengeance. What would he think, knowing that she would be around for centuries, that they were irrevocably connected by one passionate night after a headed argument that had nearly broken them?

She loves him, has absolutely no doubts about what she wants or how she feels, aches at the thought of him alone in the TARDIS, but the fear, once acknowledged, gnaws at her hearts, and she shudders, wonders if she should just have him take her home to the other universe instead. Even her human Doctor had been slow to warm to the idea of Dex, though he'd assured her, multiple times, that he'd just been shell shocked.

She thinks of Dex, her gorgeous little boy, so very like his father, who'd grown up not even knowing his own species. She puts her head in her hands. She has to tell him. No matter how his rejection would hurt, she owes it to Dex, needs to give his father the chance to know how brilliant his little boy is.

Decision made, Rose shoves the conundrum to the back of her mind, locking out the swirling emotions that are muddling her thoughts. She realizes, suddenly, that if Torren can hear everything she was thinking, the Time Lord Doctor could, too.

Torren is staring at her wide-eyed.

Right, thinks Rose. That would not do. She needs some defenses. She will be completely honest, won't hide anything from him, but she doesn't want to go flooding him with all of her doubts and fears and insecurities. Rose gives Torren a winning smile. "Teach me to shield my thoughts?"


	29. Chapter 28

Elliot blinks at him. "You mean Dex?" he says, confused.

The Doctor nods, cannot speak for the fear that grips his heart.

"Torren found him near the lake in the south cavern," Elliot says, watching the Doctor's face carefully. "It was obvious that he'd come from the river, but we didn't understand how. He was unconscious. His lips were blue and we couldn't get him to stop shaking." Elliot shakes his head at the memory. "We thought he was going to die."

The Doctor is suddenly overwhelmed by the image of his little boy, alone in the dark, shivering and wet and scared. It hits him like a slap in the face, and something cold and heavy sinks into the pit of his chest.

Elliot seems not to notice, continues. "He slept for two days. Torren went to check on him, found him awake, just like nothing had happened. Well, except for his ankle," Elliot amends. "We think he'd broken it. It looked pretty nasty."

The Doctor runs his hands roughly through his hair. He is suddenly furious at the Time Lord for allowing this to happen. He'd been trusted with the most precious thing in the universe. How could he have been so irresponsible? I should regenerate him, he thinks.

Elliot has fallen silent. The Doctor resists the temptation to grip his shoulders and shake him. "Elliot, what happened?" he rasps. "How did Dex get injured?"

Elliot glances at him. "I told you, you were both captured by Eleazar. He seemed to think Dex was telepathic, wanted to break into his mind, but somehow Dex broke free. There was nowhere to run, and Dex jumped off a cliff, into the river." Elliot raises his eyebrows, still impressed at the little boy's daring after nearly a year. "That's how he broke his ankle. It was nearly a 60 foot fall."

The Doctor closes his eyes tightly, not quite succeeding in blocking out the image. I will regenerate him, he thinks.

Elliot continues. "Here's the really strange thing," he says slowly. "Dex had to swim nearly half a mile underwater. That part of the river runs under the floor of the cave."

The Doctor shrugs. "Respiratory bypass," he says, never more thankful for that little trick in all his lives. It had saved Dex.

Elliot looks at him curiously. "What?"

"Dex is Gallifreyan," he explains hollowly. "If he's ever caught in a situation where he can't breathe, he can pull energy from the cells in his muscles. It will keep him alive, for a little while." He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs. Half a mile underwater is a long time to rely on a bypass system, especially for a child. The Doctor cannot imagine how sore Dex must have been.

Elliot shakes his head. "Dex is human," he says, obviously confused.

The Doctor nods absently. "You would have assumed that," he sighs, head in hands.

"No," says Elliot slowly. "He told us. Was adamant about it."

"He was lying," the Doctor says flatly. Dex must have been scared after his encounter with Eleazar. The thought makes him sick.

"I don't think so," says Elliot. "Torren is gifted. She always knows when someone is lying. Dex was telling the truth."

The Doctor shakes his head. "He can't have been."

Elliot watches the Doctor appraisingly. "Does he know?" he asks finally.

The Doctor shoots a hard glance at Elliot. "Why do you ask?" he says sharply.

Elliot shrugs. "Dex was confused by what happened to him in the water. Called it a miracle." Elliot pauses, remembering what Torren had told him about Dex's confession. "He said he didn't know how he survived. Torren says that she asked him, point blank, if he were human, and that he looked at her like she'd gone insane, like he wondered why she would even ask. She said that something had blocked his consciousness, that she couldn't get through to his mind." Elliot shrugs. "Makes sense to me. Maybe somebody was trying to protect him."

Maybe, thinks the Doctor, but it still doesn't explain why Dex doesn't know. He wonders abruptly where Rose was during all of this. "Elliot, did he mention his mother?"

Elliot nods. "He was delirious, called for her in his sleep a few times," he says. "When he woke up, he never mentioned her again. Was only concerned about you."

"Me?" the Doctor asks.

"Yeah," says Elliot. "Wouldn't shut up about it, really. Kept saying that Eleazar still had you, that he had to go rescue you. Wouldn't take no for an answer." Elliot smiles, remembering. "He made us take him to the surface, found that box of yours and got supplies from it, asonic something. He cut the power to the whole city, rescued you, and then you blew up the Dome," he says, shaking his head in awe.

The Doctor can't help the burst of pride that swells in his heart. His son is brilliant, he thinks. "You let him?" he says, trying to infuse the proper amount of fatherly concern in his voice. It is difficult. He is so ridiculously proud of Dex.

"Well, yes," says Elliot uncomfortably, and the Doctor thinks that he must have hit his mark. "He said he would go alone if we didn't help him. He kept saying that it was his fault, that he wouldn't abandon you to Eleazar." Elliot conveniently omits the fact that Dex had barely escaped, that he and Torren had been captured and nearly killed in the ensuing explosion.

The Doctor is touched by Dex's fierce devotion. Just like his mother, he thinks wistfully. Something is bothering him, though. "Elliot, did he ever mention that I'm his father?" he asks. He wonders why Dex would leave that out. Surely it would have helped his argument.

Elliot's eyes widen in shock. "No," he says slowly, looking at the Doctor with renewed curiosity. "He kept calling you his friend."

The Doctor runs his hands through his hair. It doesn't make any sense, none of it is adding up. Unless- "Elliot, how old was Dex?" he asks sharply.

"Seven," Elliot replies automatically.

Seven. Rose had just told him that Dex was eight. Impossible. Somehow, Dex had made his own way to this universe, had found the Time Lord and was traveling with him. The Doctor sighs heavily, overcome with relief. He'd been so afraid that they wouldn't find the TARDIS in time, that the gaps in the universe would heal themselves before he could get to his son. It was a very real possibility, being separated from Dex forever, a possibility that neither him nor Rose had dealt with. He still desperately needs to find the TARDIS, has another time limit now, but oh, Rassilon, his son is in the same universe, and he is overwhelmingly grateful.

He wonders abruptly why the Time Lord hasn't realized who Dex is. Even if Dex's mind was shielded, the Doctor should be able to feel it. Humans shouldn't have a defended consciousness. He doesn't understand why the Time Lord had never questioned it. The thought occurs to him that he may not even be aware that Dex is Rose's son. He smiles, wonders how that conversation would go. He's always been a bit thick, he admits to himself, running his hands through his hair.

Elliot is still scrutinizing him. "What?" the Doctor asks, wondering if he's got something on his face.

Elliot shakes his head. "It's just, you look nothing like him," he says apologetically.

The Doctor laughs.

Rose is halfway to the chasm. She is returning to Elliot and the Doctor, is going to tell them the bad news. The only solution that she and Torren could see would be for Elliot and the Doctor to find and raid Eleazar's warehouse. It is a far-fetched plan -they don't even know if Eleazar would keep enough rope to rebuild the bridge, and the supplies are heavily guarded - but it is their only hope.

Rose walks quickly through the darkness, practicing the basic shielding techniques that Torren had taught her. The lesson had been surprisingly simple; it was only a matter of properly organizing her mind - thoughts that were her own, and thoughts to be shared. It had taken lots of concentration at first, and Rose had quickly become frustrated, but Torren had reassured her, saying that she was a fast learner, naturally talented. Slowly, the process became easier, and Rose thinks that she feels less vulnerable now that she has some control over her thoughts.

Something niggles at the back of her mind, something both familiar and forgotten, like a whiff of a scent from a vivid childhood memory. She stops, concentrating. She can't quite recognize it.

She feels, rather than hears, a rhythmic, grinding wheeze, the sound of time ripping and rearranging. It ripples across her body, the musical grating of the TARDIS materialization sequence, and she freezes, absorbs the familiar sound and hears the gentle welcome of the TARDIS in her mind. She is close. The TARDIS is singing, calling her back to the refugee camp.

Rose turns and runs.


	30. Chapter 29

The TARDIS lands with a heavy thunk, and the Doctor steps slowly toward the door. He can feel Dex's eyes on him, but he does not turn around. Dex had gripped his hand tightly while the Doctor had programmed the flight, and the Doctor knows that he will loose his nerve if he looks into those wide, green eyes.

He steps cautiously out the door. He is in underground, he realizes, in a large, grey cavern. Small cracks filter through the ceiling, allowing some light through, and the air is cool and moist.

The Doctor hears the soft patter of running footsteps approaching him. He keeps one hand in the crack of the door and slips the other into his pocket, gripping his sonic screwdriver tightly.

"Doctor!"

The voice is breathless, winded, and the Doctor turns abruptly.

A small, young woman with a long, thick braid is staring at him, blue eyes wide with shock. The Doctor has never seen her before.

The TARDIS door creaks, and Dex flies past him. "Torren!" he shouts, leaping into her arms.

The girl is just as surprised as the Doctor. "Dex!" she squeaks.

The Doctor pulls at his hair. Here for all of five seconds and he's already broken his promise, he thinks. He wonders if he can regenerate from stress.

Dex." His voice brokers no argument. "Get in the TARDIS."

Dex turns to look at him, green eyes wide and shining. "But Doctor, it's Torren," he says patiently, as if this were a perfectly legitimate reason to disregard his safety.

Torren blinks and looks curiously between Dex and the Doctor.

The Doctor thinks he will explode. "Yes," he says slowly, deliberately keeping his tone even. "And she is fine. Lets go."

Dex ignores him. "How did you escape?" he asks Torren.

Torren glances at the Doctor. "It was your explosion," she says carefully.

"Explosion?" asks Dex, looking at the Doctor curiously. The Doctor doesn't answer, only grips Dex's hand tightly. "We're leaving. Dex, say goodbye."

"Where's Elliot?" Dex asks suddenly.

Torren's face falls, and she suddenly looks like she's about to cry. "The bridge collapsed," she says to Dex. "Elliot is on the other side."

Dex gasps, and the Doctor mutters a curse under his breath.

Dex looks at the Doctor with large green eyes. "Doctor, please, we have to help him," he begs. "The bridge is the only way to get here! He's stuck!"

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "He can swim," he says, remembering Dex's story of how he'd found the refugee camp.

Dex drops his gaze and squirms uncomfortably, and the Doctor has a sinking feeling that he had not gotten the whole story.

Torren shifts her gaze to the Doctor. "It's half a mile under the cave floor," she says softly.

The words sink in, and the Doctor's eyes drop to Dex. He is pointedly looking at the floor. He lied to me, thinks the Doctor, shocked. He is more than just a little miffed at Dex's dishonesty. He'd thought Dex dead for three days, had avenged him, mourned him. It hurts, he realizes, looking at Dex's little face, so like his mother's, as he scratches the toe of his trainer into the ground.

"Dex-" he rasps, unsure of what to say.

Dex looks at him now, eyes wide and wet. "Please, Doctor. Please help them."

He shuts his mouth abruptly. He wants to pick Dex up and haul him into the TARDIS, wants to demand answers, wants to just leave this damned planet with its war and politics and heartbreak. But he'd never learned to resist those eyes.

He snaps his gaze up to Torren. "Nothing can get in or out?" he asks sharply.

She nods.

"He will be safe here?" His voice is low and his eyes dark.

Torren nods again. "I promise."

He steps forward, gaze burning. "Do not let him out of your sight," he says fiercely. Torren nods, fear etched into her face.

Dex is looking at him with sad green eyes. "Doctor-" he starts softly.

"We'll talk later, yeah?" he says quickly, ruffling Dex's hair in an effort to seem cheerful. The attempt falls flat. He cannot quite look Dex in the eye.

Dex blinks at him. "Yeah," he says sadly.

The Doctor ducks into the TARDIS and dematerializes.

Dex sniffs and shakes his bangs out of his eyes. Torren can see that he's upset. "Why didn't you tell him?" she asks gently.

Dex looks at her, eyes wide and nearly frantic. "He thought I was dead, Torren. For three days! I didn't want to upset him." He sniffs again and rubs his cheeks furiously.

Torren kneels beside him. "It's going to be okay," she says softly. "He's just hurt. He'll come back, and you can explain."

"Yeah," agrees Dex half-heartedly.

Torren nudges his shoulder. "Didn't expect to see you again," she says cheerfully, attempting to coax a smile out of Dex. It doesn't work. "What brought you back?"

Dex shrugs. "Wanted to save you," he mutters.

Torren laughs. "What, a year later?"

Dex looks up sharply. "It's been a year?" he asks, incredulously.

Torren nods, looking at Dex curiously.

"Time travel," he answers to her unspoken question.

She merely raises her eyebrows. She hadn't expected anything less from Dex.

Dex cracks a tiny grin. "He's a terrible driver. We were aiming for the next day."

Torren shoots him a conspiratorial glance, and they both dissolve into giggles.

The Doctor materializes on a rocky hillside. He can see the gleaming blue city below, now blackened and destroyed by his bomb, and he winces unconsciously at the memory. He steps out of the TARDIS and takes in his surroundings.

A young man is standing in front of him, staring open mouthed. He is small, gangly and awkward and not quite grown into his feet. He has sandy brown hair and bright blue eyes. The Doctor thinks they look familiar, though he can't remember why. He waves. "Hello."

The boy blinks.

The Doctor hesitantly steps closer. "I'm the Doctor," he says, hoping his voice sounds friendly.

The boy closes his mouth abruptly. "Nathan," he says, a bit absently.

The Doctor shrugs. It isn't every day that a blue police box materializes in your backyard. Nathan's reaction isn't uncommon. "So, Nathan," says the Doctor conversationally, "do you know where I could find a man named Elliot?" Nathan is silent. "He'd probably be near a bridge," the Doctor adds as an afterthought. Rather, where a bridge used to be, he thinks.

Nathan nods. "Yeah," he says slowly. He cannot believe his good fortune. This will change everything. "I can take you to him."

"Good! Allons-y!" says the Doctor cheerfully as he follows Nathan down the hill.

Rose runs as fast as she can. She can feel the TARDIS in the back of her mind, is so close, just around the corner. She hears the groan of the dematerialization sequence and puts on a burst of speed. The rhythmic grating rises and falls, and her feet pound the stone floor frantically. The sound fades just as she rounds the corner. She stares into the empty space, hearts sinking. She'd been so close.

Something nags at Rose, and she blinks, tuning into the word around her. Somebody is laughing. Her hearts stop. The sound is beautiful and familiar, and though Rose has not heard it in months, she would recognize it anywhere.

She looks beyond the empty space where the TARDIS had stood just seconds ago, not quite believing her eyes.

The Doctor watches Nathan as he silently picks a trail out of the rocky ground. Nathan never speaks, and the Doctor notices the beginnings of bruises on Nathan's cheeks, the way his shoulders slump and his breath comes in strangled gasps. He feels a pang of sympathy, wonders who had hurt Nathan, remembers Eleazar's twisted use of children. The Doctor's face hardens. Nathan's injuries anger the Doctor, remind him painfully of Dex. Eleazar has much to answer for.

The Doctor thinks that it's strange that Nathan is leading him away from the hills. He wonders where the cave is. Surely, he'd gotten close. He is about to ask when Nathan stops and grips his hand tightly.

"I have the Destroyer!"

The Doctor feels the dreaded, agonizing burn across his skin and falls to the ground. The last thing he sees are Nathan's hauntingly blue eyes staring into his own.


	31. Chapter 30

Nathan squirms uncomfortably as the Destroyer falls to the ground. There is something about those warm, brown eyes that bore into his own, wide with shock at the betrayal. Men are thumping him painfully on the shoulder, congratulating him and calling for Sebastian. Nathan doesn't feel the pride and elation that he thought he would. Something cold and heavy sink into his chest, and he suddenly wonders if he had done the right thing.

Sebastian hurries to the edge of the camp where the men are gathered around a body. He sees them laughing, notices the way they have surrounded the runt, are clapping their hands enthusiastically on his back and praising him loudly.

That will not do.

Sebastian stomps into the circle. "What's all this?" he asks, voice cold and deadly.

The men fall silent and look to the runt.

Nathan looks Sebastian firmly in the eye. "I have the Destroyer," he announces confidently, though he is feeling anything but.

Sebastian looks at the man on the ground. He fits the description perfectly, even down to the strange white shoes on his feet.

Sebastian locks his gaze on the runt, eyes cold and calculating. "No," he says slowly, relishing the control he holds and the power this could bring him. "I have the Destroyer."

Sebastian smiles viciously, and Nathan shudders.

Dex hears a sharp gasp and looks up suddenly. The laughter dies in his throat.

Mum.

He blinks, but she is still there, standing across the room, staring at him wide-eyed. She looks exactly as he remembered, blonde hair brushing her shoulders and framing her face, large amber eyes and blue leather jacket.

His breath catches painfully in his chest. The Doctor had explained to him about the dimension cannon following the TARDIS, and he knew enough about time travel to know that this is a massive paradox. It's not fair.

She is running to him, calling his name, and he closes his eyes and steels himself. He wants nothing more than to go to her, to leap into her arms and hold her tight and never let go.

She is in front of him now, sinks to her knees and lays her hand gently on his cheek. He can't help it, he leans into her touch, knows he shouldn't, but he's missed her so much.

"Dex." Her voice is soft and gentle and laced with concern, and he shivers.

Rose cups her son's cheek gently in her hand, and he shudders. He hasn't spoken, is leaning into her just slightly. His brow is furrowed and Rose can feel the tension stiffening his little body.

It terrifies her.

"Dex, are you alright?" she asks, brushing his hair gently off his face.

His eyes flutter open, sweep across her carefully. They are ancient and sad, and Rose is painfully reminded of her first Doctor. She hasn't seen Dex so close to tears in years.

Dex feels the cool brush of her hand across his forehead, pushing back his hair as she'd done so many times. She speaks, her voice tender and layered with fear, and he opens his eyes, cannot help it. He takes her in slowly. She is warm and solid, he can hear her light breaths and catches a whiff of citrus shampoo and the unmistakeable spice of the time vortex. Her face is warm and open, brow furrowed in concern. He cannot meet her eyes.

He sweeps his gaze down her body, determined to memorize her, desperate to replace his last image of her crumpled body on the black pavement, cold and stiff and unnaturally still.

His gaze lands on a tiny mark near her left shoulder. He reaches for it, unthinking, runs his finger around the scorched hole of her leather jacket.

Exactly where the Dalek's laser had pierced her.

Dex breaks.

He looks at her, eyes wide with disbelief, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mum," he breathes.

He flings himself into her arms and she automatically pulls him in. He clings to her tightly, shuddering with silent sobs. She holds him close and runs her hands gently down his back. He burrows into her neck and she feels his tears soak her shirt. It tears at her hearts. She's never seen her son cry like this, not in all his years. She considers the trepidation, the disbelief in his eyes and the way he'd looked at her carefully, drinking her in, his reaction to the scorched hole in her jacket.

She suddenly remembers the encounter with the Dalek. She'd seen Dex, had started to run to him, before the Dalek had fired at her. She'd thought was a dream, a hallucination derived from sheer exhaustion. The next thing she remembers is waking up hours later on the sidewalk, alone and fully rested, with only a tiny mark on her left shoulder to prove she'd even seen the Dalek at all.

She feels the blood drain from her face.

Daleks don't stun.

She holds her son close, whispers gently in his ear. "Dex, I'm sorry," she breathes. "I'm here. It's okay."

He shivers and she wraps her arms tightly around him, wonders how she will ever let go.

The Doctor feels something pulling at the back of his mind, stretching and prodding. It won't go away, the nagging feeling that he is missing something, and he closes his eyes tightly, concentrating.

Something snaps into place, and he realizes that it's the TARDIS. He can barely hear her, like an echo of a memory, but she is calling to him, singing a desperate song of worry and dread.

He stands. Something is wrong.

The sudden movement jars his chest, and he realizes just how little time he has. He will have to move slowly, can't exert himself. His lungs gurgle painfully with each breath.

Elliot looks at him questioningly.

"Something is wrong," the Doctor grates breathlessly, voice hoarse and sore. "I need to find the TARDIS."

He moves as quickly as he can to the passage behind them.

Elliot watches him go, perplexed at his odd behavior. "Suppose I'll stay here, then," he announces to the empty room.


	32. Chapter 31

Dex pulls back just enough to look Rose. His eyes are wet and swollen, cheeks red and tear stained. "Mum," he chokes, and his voice breaks. "I thought-"

"Shh." She wipes away the tears that are gathering at the corners of his eyes. "I'm right here."

Dex sniffs, torn between falling into her arms and accepting the impossible and demanding answers. "But I saw it!" The words burst out of him, rasping painfully from his throat, raw and thin and broken.

Rose's hearts break. She pulls him close and lays her lips on his forehead. "I know," she whispers. "I'm sorry, Dex. I'm so sorry."

Dex sniffs and looks up at her again, eyes wide and cautious. "You're really alright?" he asks tentatively, as if afraid of her answer.

She kisses his forehead gently. "I really am."

Dex's face breaks into a watery grin, and Rose breathes a heavy sigh of relief. They are going to be fine.

She rests her hands gently on his shoulders. "Dex." Her voice is soft and questioning.

Dex watches her carefully, cataloging every detail of her face. He cannot believe she's really here.

Rose squeezes his shoulder gently. "I need to know how you got here," she says seriously.

Dex's face falls. "I'm sorry," he whispers, luminous eyes glittering with shame and regret and unshed tears. "I didn't mean to. I just... I didn't know where you were! You were gone, and Gran... and I... I just wanted to know you were okay!" His lower lip trembles, and Rose is afraid he is going to cry again.

Rose thinks she might cry with him. Stupid. I should never have kept anything from him, she thinks. Dex notices everything, always had. She'd been fooling herself thinking that he wouldn't worry about her. She cups his cheek in her hand.

"Listen to me," she says softly, fiercely. Dex reluctantly meets her eyes. "You did nothing wrong. I'm not angry at you. I love you so much, Aerrinedex Tyler, and I have never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life." She pauses, watches her son, who is looking at her with wide, solemn eyes. "I just want to know how you got here," she finishes gently.

Dex squirms. "I broke into your office," he confesses, looking at the floor in shame. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe. Gran wouldn't tell me anything."

Rose brushes his hair from his eyes. Dex is watching the ground intently, rubbing the toe of his trainer into the stone floor.

"The button, the dimension cannon, it was on your desk," he says, squirming ashamedly. "I... I pressed it. On accident... Sort of," he admits in a whisper.

The blood drains from Rose's face and she pulls her son into a crushing hug. "Dex," she breathes, remembering the things she'd seen during her jumps between universes. It is a miracle that he is here, alive.

"I'm sorry," Dex murmurs pitifully into her shirt. She can feel him trembling.

"Don't," she says fiercely. "Don't apologize. I'm just glad you're alright, that's all."

Dex pulls back and looks at her seriously. "M'glad you're alright, too," he says, sniffing.

Rose smiles softly at him and brushes his hair back. Dex does not return her grin, but he meets her eyes, and she is thankful for the progress.

"But what are you doing here?" she asks, looking speculatively around the cave. She realizes suddenly that Torren had slipped out of the room. She hadn't even noticed her go.

Dex shrugs. "The Doctor dropped me off. He's-" Dex's eyes go big and round, and he clutches Rose's hands in a death-grip. "Mum," he breathes, face slowly lighting up with excitement. "Mum, the Doctor!" Dex is nearly laughing now. "Mum, he thinks- he doesn't know!" He stands, pulling at Rose's hand. "Mum, we've got to tell him! He's going to be so happy to see you!"

Rose furrows her brow. "Yeah?" she says quietly. She is having a hard time wrapping her head around the Doctor traveling with a child in the TARDIS. She wonders if he's figured out who Dex is. Unlikely, she thinks, hearts sinking.

She watches her son, sees the grin that lights his face, the way his eyes sparkle with anticipation. He is on his feet, can barely contain his enthusiasm, is nearly bouncing with it. It is rare for Dex to be so animated, so openly excited, and she is reminded vividly of his father, of pinstripes and unruly hair and warm brown eyes that would glow in the light of discovery.

"Dex," she says, watching his face carefully. She has to tell him.

He sees the trepidation in her eyes. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk about something," she says hesitantly. Dex blinks and settles solemnly beside her, sensing the gravity of the impending conversation. Rose wonders how to approach it. "Dex," she says, buying time and feeling out the situation, "How long have you been traveling with the Doctor?"

Dex raises his hand and scratches at the back of his neck. "'Bout three months." He looks at Rose curiously, wondering why it was so important.

Rose nods. "And you and him, do you get on?"

Dex laughs. "Of course, Mum! He's brilliant!" His eyes are shining and he's grinning. Rose breathes a sigh of relief. It's clear that Dex absolutely adores the Doctor.

She pulls at her sleeve. "And... Has the Doctor ever mentioned anything about me? I mean, he and I?" she asks, hoping to sound casual.

"You mean how you were lovers," Dex states bluntly. Honestly, that was old news.

Rose blinks. "Right," she murmurs, wondering how her son had worked that out. "You knew?"

Dex rolls his eyes. "Don't be thick, Mum. It couldn't be more obvious," he says, as if bored. "I know all about that. He showed me, let me see how happy you were in the TARDIS, about running for your lives, and how you saved whole planets and ate chips afterwards." He gazes at Rose in awe, eyes glowing appreciatively. "I didn't know you did all of that," he says proudly.

Rose smiles at him, but her eyes are far away. 'Its obvious,' Dex had said. She wonders how. She would have never guessed that the Doctor would have shown Dex anything of their life together. She shoves the questions to the back of her mind and squeezes Dex's hand. "And do you know about what-" her voice breaks, and she pauses. "About how we got separated?" she asks softly.

Dex looks at her sadly. "He showed me that, too," he says, leaning onto Rose's shoulder.

"He showed you Canary Wharf?" she asks, incredulous. She wonders briefly if Dex is traveling with a different Doctor. It didn't sound like the one she'd lost.

"Yeah," says Dex, remembering. "He wanted me to understand. I saw you slip off the lever, and I saw Grandad catch you before you could fall into the void." He looks at her with round green eyes. "I'm sorry, Mum," he says, squeezing her hand gently.

Rose nods and takes a deep, shuddering breath. She's run out of ways to put it off. She looks Dex seriously in the eye, and Dex returns her gaze. "Dex," she says slowly. "When I fell that day, when I got trapped in the other universe..." she trails off. Dex is watching her intently, green eyes wide and locked on to hers. She closes her eyes and he squeezes her hands encouragingly. "I was pregnant," she chokes.

Dex's brow furrows.

Rose sighs heavily. She thought that Dex would have caught on by now. "Dex-"

"He's my father, isn't he?" Dex whispers. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Dex knows they are true. It settles deep into Dex's heart, the truth, and Dex can't believe he hasn't seen it before. He runs through all of his memories of the past months. Meeting the Doctor, knowing instinctively how he would react to things, the song of the TARDIS, the chai tea and banana pancakes, the long discussions in the study, their love of books and TARDIS tinkering and all things scientific, running through the streets of Barcelona, the laugher and the nightmares and the traveling. He thinks about how the Doctor had comforted him when he'd thought that Rose was dead, had wrapped him in his arms and let him cry into his shoulder. It had felt right, Dex thinks, and he realizes that he's always known, deep down.

I have a father, thinks Dex, overwhelmed by the enormity of the prospect. He'd never felt that he was missing anything, not really. Mum had always done her best to give Dex everything he would have gotten from two parents, had been his protector and his confidant and his best friend all in one, and Dex had never thought he'd needed anything else. Dex remembers all of the Doctor's stories of his adventures, how he'd traveled the universe and saved lives. He remembers how the Doctor had escaped from Eleazar's prison, had carefully tended to his broken ankle and gently coaxed him awake when he'd been having a nightmare. Dex remembers the night that the Doctor had taken him to Erbinar VI to see the aurora. He'd first felt the turn of the earth beneath his feet, had decided that there was nobody else in the universe that he'd rather be with. That's my dad, he thinks, astonished.

Rose watches Dex. He doesn't speak for a long while. He is very still, face blank and eyes distant. It scares her, and Rose reaches for him, isn't sure what to say, how to make it better.

Dex's eyes finally snap to hers, and his face breaks out into a wide grin, green eyes luminous and wet.

Rose feels her hearts swell, and she returns Dex's smile. "It's alright, then?" she asks hesitantly.

"Mum," breathes Dex, wide-eyed. "It's fantastic!"

Eleazar huddles on the ground, shrouded in the darkness of the cave. He peers around the corner at the woman and her son. Her Time Lord son. Eleazar smiles viciously. He'd known there was something special about the boy.

He strokes the polished alcanite stone on the handle of his cane. He does not have much energy remaining. Eleazar had drained his remaining supplies to fuel his soldier's loyalty during the war. Recently, the outlook had been bleak, but as of today, the war would be over and his reign unending.

Eleazar closes his eyes and releases his hold on all but his most valuable subjects. He will need all of the energy he can get for what he is planning.

He will have the boy.


	33. Chapter 32

Nathan shivers. Something cold and sharp moves in his head. He cries out and falls to the ground, hands on his temples. He has a sense of a fog lifting, of icy fingers slowly releasing their grip. Memories trickle in, and Nathan has sudden flashes of awareness.

Lights glaring in his face. Lying on a cold steel table in a bright room. Piercing yellow eyes and a soft, musical voice. A woman with thick brown hair and deep blue eyes screaming his name. Swirls of black cloth, harsh, strong hands that grip him painfully. The yellow eyes again.

Those yellow eyes. They are familiar, so familiar, but he cannot place them. He shudders. He doesn't like them.

He hears the woman frantically calling his name, wonders why he can't remember who she is. She is important, he knows.

He curls into a ball, and slowly, the memories intensity, solidify. Scared, he thinks. He'd been scared.

One of the men kicks him hard in the ribs, and Nathan inhales sharply. The man spits in the dirt beside his face. "Up, runt. Father Eleazar won't have lazy soldiers."

Father Eleazar. The remaining fog dissipates, and Nathan gasps. The memories flood in, faster and sharper than before. He'd been taken, wrenched from his mother's arms while his father had hidden his sister in the hills. His mum had tried to stop the soldiers, had screamed and kicked and bitten. It is her voice that Nathan hears over and over in his dreams. They killed her, he remembers suddenly, had beaten her over the head with a wooden club. Nathan feels bile rose in his throat at the image.

He'd woken up in a bright white room, strapped to a steel table. A man in white robes had come to him. Nathan remembers pale yellow eyes and a warm, musical voice.

His memories had slowly faded. He'd forgotten the soft caress of his mother's hand on his back, his father's booming laugh, his sister's name. The cold fog had settled into his mind, seeping slowly into his identity.

The man had been patient, had told him that it was normal, that he had been through a great trauma. He'd learned to trust the kind man.

Eleazar.

Nathan abruptly remembers that there had been other children living with him, all singing the praises of Father Eleazar.

He used us, he realizes. Brainwashed us. Nathan looks at his platoon, dozens of men passionately fighting a war they didn't really understand. Eleazar had made an army, had ripped children away from their homes and stolen their memories, made mindless servants who who took orders without question, were completely devoted to Eleazar and his perfect soldier.

Nathan doesn't even know why they're fighting.

He stands slowly, glancing up, looks across the camp at the man called the Destroyer. The Doctor, Nathan thinks, remembering the name he'd given. He is unconscious, chained to a tree, has been beaten and spat upon. Blood trickles down his face from a cut on his forehead. Nathan feels sick. It is a kind face. I did this, thinks Nathan, ashamed. The Doctor had only been trying to help.

Hot anger builds in Nathan's heart. I have to fix it, he thinks fiercely. All he has is a knife and a canteen of water, hardly anything that can cut through chains. Nathan looks around the camp. There is nobody here who will help him. Sebastian had renounced his exile at the protests of the men, but he was still on probation, denied access to weapons. He has no friends.

He takes stock of his surroundings. He is near the edge of the camp, only one sentry between him and freedom. Nathan glances around and tightens his grip on his pack. Nobody seems to be paying him any attention.

Nathan takes a deep breath and bolts.

The Doctor steps out of the mouth of the cave, blinking in the sudden sunlight. He leans against the stone wall, fighting for each breath, trying to stave off the dizziness that threatens to send him crashing to the ground. He can feel his mind start to wander, shakes his head and forces himself to focus. TARDIS, he remembers, feeling the faint tug at his mind. Find the TARDIS.

He starts down the hill, instinctively knows he is heading in the right direction. He stumbles on a loose rock, manages to catch himself before he falls. He thinks he can see a glint of blue in the distance.

Nathan leans against the blue box and sighs heavily, resting his head on the rough wood. On a whim, he'd made his way back to where he'd first met the Doctor, hoping to find something that would be of use to him. The blue box sits at the bottom of a long hill. It is dark and silent; the lights have flickered out and Nathan cannot get the doors to open. He'd pushed and pulled, had finally admitted defeat and sank to the ground, at a loss.

He doesn't know what to do next.

He needs to rescue the Doctor before Eleazar's soldiers kill him. Nathan knows that Sebastian will keep him alive long enough to torture him, make an entertaining show of his death to please the men. Guilt grips Nathan's heart. He'd give anything to undo the past hour.

He hears the crunch of approaching footsteps behind him. They are heavy and halting, and Nathan stands quickly, peering around the corner of the box and bracing himself to run. As a deserter, he will be stoned if caught.

Nathan blinks. It's the Doctor. He isn't bleeding anymore, and he is wearing different clothes, but he is unmistakably the same man that Nathan had left at the camp an hour ago. Nathan swallows, wonders what to say.

"Hello, old girl," he murmurs, running his hand on the rough wooden door. Nathan realizes he is talking to the box. He steps back, sends a stone clattering. The Doctor glances up and smiles at him.

"Hello," he says cheerfully, giving Nathan a small wave. Nathan notices that his voice is hoarse.

Nathan cannot contain himself anymore. "I'm sorry!" he cries, wringing his hands and looking at the Doctor with wide blue eyes. "I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sorry!"

The Doctor blinks. "What?" he croaks.

Nathan squirms. "Eleazar, he brainwashed me. I didn't mean to get you captured. " he says, looking at his feet. The Doctor doesn't speak. "Well, I did, but I'm better now, I promise!" Nathan stammers. "I want to help!"

"Captured?" the Doctor says, staring hard at Nathan. His voice is louder now and incredulous, brow furrowed quizzically. In another situation, Nathan would think his expression comical.

But right now, Nathan looks at him cautiously. "You don't remember?" he asks slowly, suddenly worried about the blow to he Doctor's head.

The Doctor shakes his head, is still gazing intently at Nathan. "Just... Run it by me again?" he asks, scratching his neck.

"We met here, remember? You came out of this box, asking about a bridge. I..." Nathan trails off, ashamed. The Doctor is looking at him speculatively. "I thought you were an enemy. I took you to the soldiers, but... but something happened, and I remember everything now. Eleazar had tricked me, brainwashed me or something, but it's gone now." Nathan is looking at the dusty ground in shame.

"Oh!" says the Doctor, blinking and nodding. "That's my... my brother," he says. He pauses, scratches his neck. "We're both... Doctors."

Nathan just stares at him, this doctor who is not, apparently, the Doctor.

The not doctor reads his expression. "Just call me John," he says quickly.

Nathan nods.

John looks at Nathan seriously. "What's your name?" he asks, eyes warm and full of sympathy.

"Nathan," Nathan whispers. He does not think that John should be looking at him kindly, not after what he's done.

"Nathan," says John somberly. "I need your help."

"You aren't angry with me?" Nathan asks hesitantly. He thinks John should be.

John shakes his head. "It wasn't your fault," he says, looking Nathan in the eye seriously.

The guilt in Nathan's eyes suggests that he feels otherwise, but he doesn't reply.

John coughs suddenly, harsh and hacking, and Nathan notices how pale he is, how haggard. He looks exhausted. John clears his throat and Nathan winces. It sounds painful.

"Are you alright?" Nathan asks. He is suddenly afraid that John might fall over in front of him.

"Yeah," says John quickly. He smiles, but it does not meet his eyes. Nathan thinks he doesn't look alright. "Nathan," he says quietly. "Where is the Doctor now?"

Nathan hangs his head. "He's in the camp," he whispers. "Was going to help him escape, but I don't have anything that will cut chains."

John looks him in the eye. "It's alright," he says kindly. "But we need to get him out of there. Can you help me?"

Nathan looks at him, deep blue eyes large and solemn. "What do you need me to do?"

Someone is shaking him. The Doctor blinks, stares into a pair of familiar brown eyes. Very familiar brown eyes.

He sits up abruptly. "What?"

"Shhh," the other Doctor lays a finger on his lips. "We don't have long."

"But- but what?" he stammers, quieter now, but just as incredulous. He reaches out with his mind, picks up nothing. Metacrisis, he realizes.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, flabbergasted. He distinctly remembers leaving the human Doctor with Jack. Not his best move, he thinks, wincing.

The human Doctor sets to work sonicing the Time Lord's chains. They give with a sharp click, clinking as they fall to the ground. "Saving you," he breathes, winded.

"But- but how?"

"Vortex manipulator," he murmurs, sinking down beside the Time Lord. He closes his eyes lightly. He just wants to sleep.

The Time Lord realizes that they are sitting in an open field, an open field that had been, last he'd checked, crawling with soldiers. He grips the human's wrist. "How did you get past the guards?" he hisses.

The human blinks his eyes open. "Nathan," he breathes, forcing himself to focus.

"Nathan?"

"Eleazar released him. He's sorry. Be nice." He gives the Time Lord a hard look. He struggles to his feet and shrugs out of his suit jacket. "Switch," he demands, breathless.

The Time Lord cocks an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

The human rolls his eyes. "Told you," he gasps. "Saving you. You'll thank me later."

He tosses his jacket at the Time Lord, who is now staring at him incredulously. "What about you?"

"Doesn't matter." He is is matter-of-factly stripping off his trousers, shoving them forcefully at the Time Lord.

The Time Lord suddenly notices how pale the human Doctor is, how his breaths are quick and labored, rattling in his chest. He sways slightly on his feet, as if he is about to fall over. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" the Time Lord asks, hearts sinking in his chest.

The human Doctor slumps to the ground, breathing heavily. "Just go," he says, shoving his sonic screwdriver into the Time Lord's hand. "They won't look for you if I'm here."

"I won't leave you!" the Time Lord protests sharply, running his hands through his hair.

"Shhh. You are. Jacket," he demands, holding his hand out and closing his eyes. He half-heartedly curses his own stubbornness. He is exhausted.

"Not until you explain."

The human Doctor rolls his eyes and grasps the Time Lord's hand. The Time Lord is suddenly surrounded by a thick cloud of green gas. It swirls around him, coats his throat and permeates his lungs. It hangs there, thickening, burning. His body rushes to metabolize it, cannot. The gas seeps into his alveoli, weakening their walls. The Time Lord can feel the sharp pain as the burst, each time he takes a deep breath. Blood wells from the damaged capillaries, clogging his lungs and obscuring his air-flow. It is a vicious cycle; the more blood, the deeper he breathes, the deeper he breathes, the more air sacks rupture. He is dying, slowly suffocating, drowning in his own blood. The Time Lord swallows hard as he is released from telepathic contact. It is far too late, there is nothing he can do.

He slips out of his jacket and silently slides it onto the human's shoulders. They switch clothes as quickly as they can, and the Time Lord loosely wraps his chains around the human Doctor's wrists.

He is lying with his head against the tree, breathing shallowly, eyes closed. The Doctor thinks he is asleep. It won't be long now.

He is turning to leave when a hand grips his wrist tightly. The human Doctor is staring at him intently. "Tell Rose," he breathes.

The Doctor feels his hearts clinch. The oxygen deprivation is affecting the human's memory. "Yeah," he says roughly, squeezing the human Doctor's hand.

"Tell her not to worry. It's your turn, now."

He nods, eyes burning. "I will."

He closes his eyes again, trembling slightly. The Doctor gently releases his hand and pulls away.

"Doctor."

The Time Lord watches the human carefully.

"Tell her-" he takes a shuddering breath. "Tell her it was fantastic." His voice breaks, fades, but he is smiling now, a pure, real smile that lights his face.

The Time Lord finds that he cannot speak. He nods sharply and turns into the night.


	34. Chapter 33

Rose watches her son carefully, considering the conundrum she is in. She thinks she will wait to tell Dex about the two Doctors. She doesn't want to overwhelm him - as if she hadn't already, she thinks wryly - and that would require her explaining regeneration, and the instantaneous biological meta-whatsit. She decides firmly that she will have help with that conversation. Besides, the Time Lord doesn't even know Dex is his son. It could change things, she thinks sadly, though she hopes not. She'd always known that Dex would love life in the TARDIS.

She thinks about her Time Lord Doctor. She is terrified to see him, has no idea what to say. She remembers what Dex said, 'don't be thick, mum. It's obvious.' She wonders again how the Doctor had made it obvious, just what he had said to Dex.

Dex sighs shivers and grips her hand tightly, shaking her from her thoughts. Rose gazes down at him. His eyes are wide and uncertain, and he stares at her intently. "Alright?" she asks, running her thumb gently across his knuckles.

He looks at her, little face a perfect mix of relief and joy and awe. He nods. "Yeah," he says, shoving his hands deeply into the pocket of his hoodie. He squirms, looks at her again. "It's just, you're here," he breathes, luminous green eyes alight with astonishment, as if he can't quite believe it.

"I am," says Rose firmly, gathering Dex into a crushing hug. Dex takes this as permission and clambers happily into her lap, content to burrow into her neck and breathe in her scent, as he hasn't since he'd been a small child. Dex cannot believe she is here, sighs in relief. His heart is so full it could burst.

Heart. Dex remembers abruptly that the Doctor isn't Doctor - Dad, thinks Dex, experimentally rolling the word around in his mind - has two hearts. I have one. Dex wonders why. One of the first conversations he'd had with the Doctor, during that long night after the first nightmare, they'd sat in the study and discussed Gallifreyan biology. The Doctor has a respiratory bypass system. Oh. Dex shivers as he relives the swirling water and the agonizing burn in his lungs, the way the fire had faded and he'd suddenly been able to swim, the lingering ache in his muscles that had just now abated. I have a respiratory bypass system, thinks Dex, impressed. He wonders what else he might have.

Rose stares at her son, her brilliant, eight year old son who has climbed into her lap and is clutching her tightly. Rose wonders at the odd behavior - Dex has always been affectionate, but never clingy. Her hearts twist painfully in her chest and she wonders what else has changed in her son, is scared to find out.

She looks him over, running her hands through his too-long hair. It probably hasn't been cut since she'd last made Dex have a trim, over three months ago in her timeline. She smiles at the though of her boys on the TARDIS, running enthusiastically from adventure to adventure and forgetting little domestic problems like hair growth. She'll have her work cut out for her.

He is taller now, she notices, older. His eyes are just as luminous, still sparkle with intelligence and enthusiasm, but he's lost most the child- like naivety that had made him seem so young. They are ancient now, will probably always seem just a bit too serious for his age, will always hold a shadow of regret and pain and knowledge far beyond his years. Rose holds her son in her arms, gently stroking his back and mourning the loss of her sheltered little boy.

He shifts, and Rose suddenly notices that he is wearing a splint on his left foot. She reaches down, runs her hand lightly over it. "Dex?"

He stiffens just slightly in her arms.

Dex feels Mum's attention shift as she runs her hand across his injured leg. He closes his eyes and holds back a sigh. He'd wanted to stay in this moment, exactly as it was. He's had enough fussing over that foot to last a lifetime.

"What happened?" she asks, and he can hear the concern in her voice. It bothers him, and he leans back slightly, sliding off her lap and shoving his hair out of his eyes.

"I fell," he says evenly, desperately hoping that she accepts his vague answer. He can see by the look in her eyes that she won't.

She gives him a skeptical glance. "Fell off of what?" she asks slowly, cocking an eyebrow and demanding a proper answer. She knows her son far too well to fall for that.

He squirms. He's having a hard time feeling properly irritated at the interrogating-mum firmness in her tone. He scratches his neck. "Off a rock," he says finally, eyes large and silently begging her to drop it.

"Dex," she stretches his name warningly.

He sighs and shoves his hands deeply into his pockets. She is going to make him tell the entire story. "When we landed here, on Karphelox," he starts slowly, looking at the ground and fidgeting slightly, "we got captured. There were these guards, and a man named Eleazar. He thought the Doctor wanted to sell me." He is warming up to the sorry now, words pouring out of him. It is a relief, he realizes suddenly. "The Doctor was furious. We were trying to leave, were almost to the TARDIS, when they caught us. They separated us, and the man, Eleazar, he tired to break into my mind, wanted to steal my energy or something. Someone cut me loose, and I ran." Dex pauses, remembering the warm brown eyes of his rescuer, and glances at his mum speculatively, comparing. He thinks for a moment that Mum could have been his rescuer; the eyes were similar, had seemed familiar. It hadn't been her, he realizes, the eyes were darker than Mum's, a deeper, chocolate brown. Dex wonders who would have saved him, if not his Mum.

She clears her throat and gently lifts his chin. "Then what?" she asks firmly, but her eyes are warm and understanding.

Dex shakes his bangs back and continues. "There was nowhere to go, just a dead end," he says simply, "a cliff over the river. I jumped, and that's how I broke my ankle."

Rose watches his face carefully, knows he is not giving her the full story. "And what happened after that?" she asks gently, hoping to coax the story out of him. She takes his hand, knows instinctively that she won't like what he had to say.

He scratches his neck. "Well, I fell into the water," he says haltingly. "The current pulled me here."

Rose remembers Torren's explanation of the problem with the bridge, how to only other entrance was a half-mile swim under the cave floor. She realizes what must have happened, feels her hearts clinch at the image, cups her son's cheek in her hand gently. "I know how far you had to swim," she says seriously. "You don't have to hide it from me."

He looks at her, eyes wide with terror at the memory. He looks small and scared, and she runs her finger lightly across his cheek.

"Respiratory bypass, right?" he asks, voice small and thin. He notices, clears his throat and shoves his hair forcefully out of his eyes in an attempt to seem nonchalant. Rose knows better.

She wonders where the Doctor had been during all of this. "Dex, where was the Doctor?" she asks, thinking that he should have realized what had happened.

Dex watches the toe of his trainer as it rubs patterns into the stone floor. "Eleazar made him watch. He saw me jump, didn't know about the cave," he says simply, still looking at the ground.

Rose grips his hand tightly, realizing what the Doctor must have thought. Dex, knowing she was going to ask, continues, voice hollow. "I found the lake in the south cavern. I passed out, and Torren found me there. She brought me back to the camp and when I woke up, Torren and Elliot and I went to the surface to rescue the Doctor."

Rose smiles gently at him. "How'd you manage that?" she asks proudly.

But Dex only shrugs. "Used my sonic to cut the power supply to the whole city," he says flatly. He will not meet Rose's eyes. "But there was an alarm," he whispers ashamedly, hiding behind the hair that has flopped back into his eyes. "I escaped, but Torren and Elliot got captured."

He shakes his hair back. "The Doctor managed to escape, set off a bomb and destroyed the Dome. We met at the TARDIS." Dex's eyes are far away, remembering.

Rose feels her hearts ache for her son. "You didn't tell him?" she asks gently, brushing his hair off his forehead.

He shakes his head. "Didn't want to upset him," he says simply.

Rose nods. Dex notices everything, would have known that the thought of him nearly drowning would have bothered the Doctor. She sighs, thinks that sometimes, Dex is too perceptive for his own good.

Dex is eager to change the subject. "He fixed my ankle," he continues, "and we came back to rescue Torren and Elliot." He gives a tiny smile, and Rose squeezes his hand encouragingly. "But we landed a year too late."

Rose laughs, remembering another time when the Doctor had been a year off target.

"What's funny?" Dex looks at her speculatively.

She shakes her head. "Your father," she says conspiratorially, eyes sparkling, "is a terrible driver.

Dex nods, wide-eyed. "I keep telling him to teach me, but he won't." He frowns and cocks an eyebrow. "Think he's afraid I'll be a better pilot than him."

Rose laughs, picturing two Doctors and Dex bouncing around the console, dancing around each other, manically flipping switches and grinning madly. She shakes her head, still smiling, and wonders how she will keep up with all of them. She stands, pulling Dex up with her.

"Come on," she says, and Dex smiles at her and grips her hand tightly. "Lets find Torren. Suppose she's got questions."

Dex giggles, thinking of all of the explanations he owes Torren. "She probably thinks we've swanned off again."

Rose laughs, and they head off in the direction of the camp, entering the dark passageway hand-in- hand.

Eleazar holds his breath and tightens his grip on his weapon. This is his chance. The woman and her son had hardly moved, and Eleazar had wondered wether the boy would ever willingly leave his mother's side. After watching them, he thinks not.

He'd wanted to grab the boy while the mother had been distracted, but he can see now that neither mother nor child was letting the other out of their sight. He knows it would be wiser to wait for backup, for the chaos of battle, but he sees this chance, and he will seize it.

It is dangerous, but oh, the reward will be worth the risk.

He slips out of his corner and stalks the child silently, shrouded in the darkness of the cave.


	35. Chapter 34

The Doctor finds Nathan leaned against the TARDIS, breathing heavily. He straightens when he hears the Doctor approaching, blinks at him wide-eyed.

The Doctor nods in greeting, steps forward and unlocks the TARDIS silently. He's not angry with Nathan, not at all, understands that Eleazar had Nathan under his control. It's just been a long night.

Nathan shrinks back, and the Doctor winces. "Come on," he says softly, beckoning Nathan forward and hoping he'd managed to school his face into an kinder expression.

Nathan steps tentatively into the TARDIS and gazes around the console room, wide-eyed. He does not speak.

The Doctor is already programming the dematerialization sequence. He notices Nathan's silence and glances up from the console. He sees the hesitation of Nathan's expression and the questions in his eyes. "This is the TARDIS," he explains, voice hollow. Normally he relishes this conversation, enjoys shocking his companions with his 'impossible' ship, revels in the gasps and the furious blinking and the barrage of questions that accompany his explanation. But tonight, everything seems empty and raw, and the Doctor cannot muster the energy for an enthusiastic lecture on Time Lord science. "It's bigger on the inside," he finishes quietly.

Nathan nods seriously and leans on the railing, looking at his feet. The Doctor decides that he has to make more of an effort.

He shakes himself and steps around the console, approaching Nathan slowly. Nathan glances at him fearfully. "I'm sorry," he whispers, looking down at the grating in shame.

The Doctor lays a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I'm not angry, Nathan," he says seriously. Nathan meets his eyes for a moment, questioning, and the Doctor is painfully reminded of Dex. "I know what Eleazar did to you."

Nathan looks at the Doctor, at his deep brown eyes that are ancient and warm, full of guilt and kindness and regret and acceptance. Nathan thinks that maybe the Doctor does understand, has forgiven him.

Nathan's eyes are wide and impossibly blue. He nods solemnly, and the Doctor can see the beginnings of hope in his expression.

The Doctor smiles softly at Nathan. "How did you distract the guards?" he asks, hoping to change the subject and coax Nathan out of his shell.

Nathan shrugs. "I'm a deserter now. I let them see me." His face falls, and his eyes are full of sadness. "They all want their reward from Eleazar," he explains softly. "They chased me."

The Doctor nods, suddenly thinking that Nathan is far too young to have experienced the cruelty of the universe. He wonders if he can fix it. "Nathan, do you have a family?" he asks gently.

Nathan scrunches his face. "I had a sister, an older sister," he says slowly, trying to remember. "Dad took her to the hills before I was captured, tried to protect her." He squirms, embarrassed. "I don't remember her name."

The Doctor looks into Nathan's shockingly blue eyes, has a sudden flash of recognition. He smiles at Nathan. "I bet," he says cheerfully, eyes sparking with enthusiasm, "that I know where to find her." Nathan watches the Doctor wide-eyed as he dashes to the console. "But we have one stop to make first."

The TARDIS lands with a thunk, and the Doctor quickly steps out the door to retrieve Elliot.

Eleazar wraps his hand around the boy's mouth and jerks him backward. The child struggles, flails and beats at the darkness, but Eleazar is strong, had planned his attack well.

Something kicks him, hard and sharp in the thigh, and Eleazar stumbles. The boy bites his hand, crunching on bones and breaking the skin, and Eleazar hisses sharply, loosens his hold.

"Dex, run!"

The boy wrenches free and Eleazar can hear his pattering footsteps echoing down the passage in the direction from which they'd come. Eleazar curses and aims his cylinder in the direction of the mother's voice, hears her crumple to the floor with a soft gasp.

He leaves her, turns and hurries down the passageway after the boy. He cannot escape.

Elliot hears the echoing crunch of booted footsteps and the shouts of soldiers long before they arrive at the chasm. He stands and glances around the room. It is large and open, and there is nowhere to hide.

Elliot stands and raises his hands in the air as the men come pouring out of the dark passage. They surround him, jeering and laughing, and Elliot breathes deeply, beyond grateful that the bridge is out. Torren will be safe.

One comes forward, a large man with a rat-like face and a brutal smile. He pokes at Elliot with a knife.

"Tell us how to get to the camp."

Elliot smiles. "Across that chasm." He points behind him, relishing confusion in the soldier's face.

The soldier wraps a thick hand around Elliot's neck. "Don't play me," he hisses, and Elliot blinks as spittle flies into his face. "The bridge is out. How do we get to the camp?"

Elliot laughs. "You can't." The hand tightens painfully around his neck, and Elliot chokes. "Why do you think I'm waiting here?" he gasps.

The man looks at Elliot appraisingly, impressed at his bravery. Elliot stares back into the cold grey eyes. Something passes between them, and the man smiles, raising the knife to Elliot's throat. Elliot closes his eyes. He isn't afraid to die, will happily sacrifice his life to protect his people.

His only regret is never telling Torren how he felt.

Dex runs down the dark passage as quickly as he can. He passes the open room where he'd found his mother, ducks into another dark tunnel to his left. He can hear Eleazar's soft footsteps pattering behind him.

Dex shivers and puts on a burst of speed. He'd recognized that cold, strong grip.

His foot twinges, and he stumbles, narrowly missing a stalagmite. He sees an opening in the tunnel and makes for it desperately.

He is in a large, open cavern. It is familiar, all grey stone and cracks in the ceiling. He stops running when he feels a cold wetness on his toes.

He is at the lake.

The dark water laps at his feet, and he stares into it, lost in the memory of swirling blackness, the icy fingers that had gripped him, pulling him into the deep until a fire had raged in his chest. He shudders, pulls his feet back onto the bank. He will not touch the water.

He is vaguely aware of footsteps at the passageway, is jerked to awareness by a cold, cruel laugh.

There is nowhere to run.

Eleazar watches the boy stare into the lake, back away from the water as if bitten. He laughs, delighted. Oh, but this is beautiful. The child is afraid of the water.

He steps forward. He can see the child's eyes flicker about the room, land on Eleazar, and then glance back at the dark lake. There is nowhere for him to go.

Eleazar grasps the child's wrist and pulls him sharply to him. The boy does not resist. Eleazar smiles wickedly and crushes his fingers to the boy's temples.

Dex cannot move, is frozen in place. Eleazar floats toward him, as if in a dream, pulls him close and digs his finger's painfully into Dex's temples. Dex does not fight back. He feels the cold, slithering sensation again, stronger this time, snaking around his consciousness, testing, prodding, boring into his mind. Dex shudders as he feels the first of his defenses crack.

A sudden breath of wind kicks up to his right.


	36. Chapter 35

Dex is vaguely aware of the rush of wind as it ruffles through his hair. Eleazar's cold yellow eyes bore into him. Dex can feel the weight of Eleazar's mind as it crushes into his. His defenses crack, and he fights back, but there is nothing, nothing that can stop the merciless onslaught of Eleazar.

Dex sees a flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, hears the rhythmic grating of the TARDIS materialization sequence. The fog lifts, and in that single moment of clarity, Dex is keenly aware of everything.

He sees the cold glint in Eleazar's eyes, can feel the bruising crush of his fingers and the sharp scrape of his dirty nails as they embed into his temples, leaving little crescent marks in his skin. He feels the pounding of his heart and the soft puffs of Eleazar's sour breath in his face. He hears the soft creak of the TARDIS door, sees a shock of messy hair and a flash of deep brown eyes. Dex feels the blood rushing through his body, feels the burst of adrenaline that burns through him, feels the turn of the earth beneath his feet.

He can sense Eleazar's mind.

Dex stares into the cruel, yellow gaze and lets his defenses fall.

Rose struggles to her feet, blinking in the blackness. She realizes that she is alone in the dark passage, remembers that someone had tried to take Dex. She doubles back, runs frantically the way they'd come, steeling herself and blocking her thoughts carefully.

She is going to get her son back.

The Doctor pauses at the door of the TARDIS. He doesn't see a bridge, or a man named Elliot. He turns, glaring at the time rotor reproachfully. She'd taken them to the wrong place. Again. He is about to duck back through the door, intending to check the calibration of the flourinion capacitor, when something whispers in the back of his mind. It tugs at the Doctor, faintly pulling at areas that had long been silent, a ghost of a memory. His breath catches and he stills, focusing on the forgotten sensation, but it flits away, fades into emptiness.

It was nothing, he tells himself, but he knows. For just an instant, he'd felt it, the faintest brush of another mind. He steps outside, absently shuts the door behind him, and sweeps his gaze around the cavern.

His breath catches in his throat.

Across the room, at the edge of a calm dark lake, Eleazar has Dex. He stands with his hands clenched firmly on the boy's head, hard yelloe eyes glittering devilishly. He is smiling triumphantly.

Terror grips the Doctor's hearts. He forgets everything and runs.

Dex allows his defenses to fall, and he feels Eleazar's delight as he pulls at the energy in Dex's mind. But Dex is ready. Instead of shrinking back, he rushes forward, pours the whole of his consciousness into Eleazar's head. Dex only means to startle Eleazar, to make him loosen his hold, but once released, his mind is uncontainable, spilling all of his awareness into Eleazar's brain. He shoves it into him relentlessly, and Eleazar shrieks and drops to the floor, writhing and clutching his head pitifully.

Dex steps back, awed by the power of his own mind. He feels something tug at him, something hesitant and tender and astonished and so, so gentle. Dex turns toward the sensation, realizes, with a shock, that it's his father.

He is on his knees, staring at Dex intently, eyes impossibly dark and face unreadable.

The Doctor is sprinting for Dex, hearts pounding wildly in his chest. Careless. Careless. Careless. It drums into him with each erratic breath, with each slap of his trainers on the cold stone floor. His only thought is to get to him, to jerk him out of Eleazar's arms. He is not sure what he will do after that.

It explodes in his mind and his feet stop on their own accord. He stills, frozen, aware of nothing but the caress of another mind against his own. It is not a whisper, not a ghost of a presence, but a full-blown shout, deafening against the silence that had blanketed his mind for so long. It is defiance and strength and resolve, a claim and a promise, and the Doctor is enraptured in it, hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it, had needed it. It settles in his hearts, the knowledge. I am not alone. The presence is a deep, shimmering green, warm and pure and free, and it tugs gently at the Doctor's hearts, whispering an undeniable truth. That mind, that beautiful Gallifreyan mind, is Dex.

Which means-

Hope wells in his hearts, hope and longing and joy and pride. It pours into him, the truth, and the Doctor sinks to his knees, unable to stand under the onslaught of it. He is vaguely aware of Eleazar crumpling to the ground, but has eyes only for his little boy. My son, he thinks, awed. I have a son, and he's here and he's perfect and he's mine. Impossible, whispers the left side of his brain, but it is drowned out by the chorus of affirmation in his mind and in his hearts and in his soul. It is undeniable, the irrevocable bond that they share, strengthened by his recognition of the truth.

He reaches out, cannot contain himself, is so overwhelmed by longing and joy and love that he cannot stop it. He tugs at Dex's mind, exploring the beautiful consciousness that is his son, blown away by the intensity of the bond they share. His arms are suddenly achingly empty, and his mind gently whispers his longing, his need to see and touch and hold his child.

Dex turns and looks at him questioningly. The Doctor's breath catches in his throat as Dex's impossibly green eyes meet his. The Doctor sees the knowledge in his eyes, realizes with a shock that Dex can feel him, too, knows the truth just as he does. The Doctor pulls back just a tiny bit, thinks it might break him to do so, but he doesn't want to overwhelm his son.

He sees Dex watching him carefully. His eyes are hesitant, almost self-conscious, and the Doctor realizes with horror that Dex thinks he doesn't want him. The thought shatters him, and he reacts, shoving the full force of all of his desperate need, all of his his astonishment and wonder and fierce love at his son. Dex's eyes widen and he watches the Doctor carefully.

The Doctor cannot hold back any longer. "Come here," he whispers roughly, and Dex's face lights into a joyous grin, and he runs, flinging himself into his father's arms.

The Doctor wraps his son in his arms, overwhelmed at the pure joy of the moment. Dex sighs into him and grips him tightly, and the Doctor wonders how he will ever contain it, the pride and the joy and the love he has for his little boy, thinks that surely his hearts will burst. It is so natural, father and son, that the Doctor wonders how he hadn't seen it. From that very first night, Dex had tugged at something deep in his soul, set alight a deep desire and melted the icy bitterness that had encased his hearts. He thinks about the crucial shift in his timeline, realizes that it had been Dex all along, shudders at the thought of what his future could have been. He is so, so thankful for his little boy.

He feels a wetness on his cheeks, realizes that he is crying. He nearly laughs, doesn't know what to do with the swirling emotions that are crowding his mind. In a moment of inspiration, he sends them all to his son, showers him with his pride and his awe and his joy and his love.

It only intensifies the moment, and the Doctor feels tears rolling down his cheeks in earnest. He holds Dex close, finds that English is too feeble, whispers to him in Gallifreyan. Dex shivers at the words that he doesn't understand, but they are like music, washing over him, mixing with the crashing waves of his father's emotion. Dex sighs, has never felt so warm and so safe and so loved. He sends it all back to the Doctor, all of his admiration and devotion and acceptance, and he feels his father stiffen. He pulls back and gazes at his son, cheeks wet and eyes wide with awe. He takes Dex's cheek gently in his hands and stares into his son's luminous green eyes. He runs his finger lightly, reverently over Dex's face, exploring his little boy's features, taking in each perfect detail, analyzing, cataloging. He gently brushes back Dex's hair, realizes with a shock that Dex does look a bit like his ninth self, has the jaw and the hair and - maybe - the ears. His cheekbones and his nose and the shape of his eyes are his mother's, but the Doctor does not recognize the brilliant green gaze that pierces into his soul. He runs his fingers down Dex's nose, noticing the light smattering of freckles that cover it. Mine, the Doctor thinks proudly, the thought warming his hearts. It is absolutely perfect, the little face that is staring at him seriously, and the Doctor thinks that he has never been so proud of anything in all of his lives.

They watch each other for a long moment, father and son, each gazing into the other's eyes. The Doctor finds himself at a complete loss for words, cannot speak for the joy that floods his hearts.

Dex fidgets and looks the Doctor in the eye. "Is it alright if I call you Dad?" he asks hesitantly, shyly.

The Doctor shatters, crushes his son into another tight embrace. "Of course," he manages finally, voice breaking roughly on the words.

Rose stumbles out of the tunnel, blinking in the sudden light. She sees a flash of a bright blue suit and shakes her head, squinting. The spots in her vision fade and she sees her son and her human Doctor gazing at each other seriously. She nearly crashes to the floor in relief. Dex is safe. The Doctor pulls Dex into a fierce hug, and Rose smiles, steps back into the shadows and allows them the moment.

She watches them together, marveling at the ease of their interaction. They turn, gaze at something that is out of her line of sight, and break into giggles. Rose feels her hearts warm.

She wonders if it will be this easy with the Time Lord, wonders how her human Doctor had managed to get across the chasm. Had he even told Dex that he has two fathers, that he is not the Time Lord? She shakes her head, decides that it doesn't matter; he is here, and he has found his son.

Dex's piercing gaze meets hers, and she stiffens slightly. She doesn't want to interrupt them, wants them to have their moment.

Dex beams at her and grips the Doctor's hand.

Eleazar groans behind them, and the moment is broken. They both stand and turn, gaze at the broken little man who lies huddled on the floor, shaking pitifully.

The Doctor glances appraisingly at Dex. He is staring at Eleazar, face unreadable. "How did you know what to do?" the Doctor asks, impressed at his son's ingenuity.

Dex shrugs. "He left his mind wide open," he say practically. "Wasn't really a difficult leap."

The Doctor nods seriously and grips Dex's hand, realizing just how close he'd come to losing his little boy.

Dex squeezes his hand reassuringly, still gazing at Eleazar speculatively. "I didn't kill him, did I?" he asks suddenly, brow furrowed in concern.

The Doctor smiles down at his son, so like his mother. He wraps his arm around Dex's shoulders and squeezes gently. "Well," he drawls, shrugging and inspecting the cowering little man carefully, "he won't ever be the same, that's for sure."

Dex snorts. "That's a relief," he says, wide-eyed and serious.

The Doctor laughs. It isn't all that funny, but once released, it cannot be contained, joy and relief crashing down on him. He swings Dex into his arms and holds him close, still shaking with laughter. Dex giggles happily into his shoulder, and the Doctor closes his eyes, captivated by the moment with his son. Dex loosens his grip at the Doctor sets him down gently, cannot wipe the mad grin from his face.

He glances back. "Suppose we should do something about him," he says, nodding toward Eleazar.

Dex grips his hand tightly. "Not yet," he whispers fiercely.

It startles him, and he sinks to his knees in front of Dex. "What is it?" he asks seriously, searching his son's face carefully.

Dex smiles at him and squeezes his hand. "There's someone you need to see first."


	37. Chapter 36

Elliot closes his eyes and waits for the slit of the knife across his throat.

It does not come.

Something clatters on the stone floor in front of his feet, and Elliot starts, opens his eyes, blinks.

The soldier has dropped the knife, has sank to the floor and is sitting with his knees drawn up, face blank, eyes vacant.

Elliot waves his hand in the man's face. He does not blink.

All across the cavern, men are staring absently. Some have fallen down, some wander aimlessly, some clutch their heads, but they are all distant, all empty, all silent.

Elliot shudders and crosses the room, eager to leave the center of the sea of men.

The Doctor wheels around sharply and stares at her, still gripping Dex's hand. He blinks and pales, eyes widening. They stare at each other for a moment, not moving. Rose feels as if the air is thick, charged with the anticipation of the moment, though she cannot think why. She smiles at him, and his expression instantly hardens, gaze dark and thunderous, face etched with disbelief and horror and regret. Something sharp and detached and clinical pokes firmly at her mind, and she withdraws instinctively, solidly slapping her shields into place.

He blinks, strides toward her purposefully, does not return her tentative smile.

Her breath catches as she notices the TARDIS for the first time, notices she can feel a slight hum in the back of her mind, just a hint of his presence, and she realizes, abruptly, that this is the Time Lord.

She shrinks back, thinks that he is not at all happy to see her. His expression is one of barely contained fury. She wonders absently why he is wearing the blue suit that she'd come to associate with the human Doctor.

He reaches her, stops and gazes at her darkly, and it startles her, the rage behind his glare. She is face to face with the Oncoming Storm. There is a moment where she thinks his breath catches, when the anger burns away and all she can see is a deep sadness in his eyes. It passes between them, the awareness, and his face shutters instantly, is so blank and detached that Rose wonders whether she'd really seen any emotion in his eyes at all.

He circles her, and she hears the whirring buzz of the sonic screwdriver as he whips it out and waves it around her. The realization crashes over her suddenly, and her hearts sink in her chest. He doesn't think I'm me.

"Doctor-" she starts softly, but he cuts her off, gripping her wrist painfully. He leans close and she flinches back instinctively, has never been afraid of him, but finds that she is, now.

"Not in front of my son," he hisses, voice low and gaze deadly.

She closes her eyes and nods, knows that right now is not the time to argue with him. She can feel the warmth of his skin and the hot puffs of his breaths, catches a whiff of chai and time and something wilder, more alien. His eyes are impossibly dark and deadly, but Rose can see the shadows beneath them, the age-old weariness and regret. She wonders how long it's been since he's slept. His hair is disheveled, standing ridiculously on end, as if he'd been running his hands through it, and his freckles stand out deliciously on his pale skin. She catches herself before she reaches to run her fingers across his cheek. She shivers, struck by just how different he is from the human, different but the same, struck by the intensity of her need for them both. He pulls back, releases her hand as if burned, and she feels bereft at the loss of contact.

Dex watches the carefully, sighs when he sees his father pull out the sonic and circle Mum slowly, face hard and cautious. He leans against the TARDIS, feels her pulse of concern in his mind.

"It's alright, girl," he says, lovingly running his hand over her rough wooden door. He glances back to his parents. "He'll figure it out, eventually."

Dex had hoped that the Doctor, having 900 years of experience on him, would have known immediately that Mum was Mum. Dex rolls his eyes. Sometimes, Dad really is thick.

He decides he can't be too judgmental. He hasn't thought Mum could be real, be from his timeline, either. He'd seen her die, after all.

He realizes abruptly that he has no idea how she survived, how she got here, but now is not a good time to ask. Dad is stalking to the TARDIS, eyes dark and expression unreadable, and Mum follows meekly behind him. Dex gives her a reassuring smile, and Mum meets his gaze, widening her eyes and looking pointedly at the Doctor's back, as if to say, 'yeah, tell me about it.'

Dex stifles a giggle and reaches for her, but Dad notices. He swoops down, snatches Dex's hand before it can clasp around Mum's. He bends and looks at Dex, eyes full of contrived enthusiasm. "Dex, there's someone I want you to meet," he says in his fake, distract-the-child voice that Dex has learned to dread. He unlocks the TARDIS, swings the door open with a flourish. Dex looks questioningly at Mum, wants to know that she's alright. She is watching attentively, eyes dancing with amusement, but Dex can see the sadness, the hesitation and the fear hovering below the surface. He sighs, supposes that he cannot expect better.

The Doctor pulls Dex up the grating with him. "Nathan!" he calls cheerfully, and Nathan pokes his head from around the console, nearly tripping as he hops out of the jump seat.

"Nathan, this is Dex." The Doctor pauses, gently lays a hand on Dex's shoulder. "My son," he says happily, beaming, eyes sparkling with pride.

Dex looks at Nathan curiously. He is older than Dex, a teenager, small, with sandy brown hair. Dex is immediately drawn to his deep, startlingly blue eyes. "Your Torren's brother!" he gasps, wide-eyed.

Nathan blinks. "Yeah," he says absently. H smiles slowly, and his voice is louder now, more confident. "Yeah, I am."

Dex's face lights up. "Fantastic!" he breathes, looking at his father appreciatively.

Dad squeezes his shoulder gently, and there is a moment of awkward silence. Nathan is looking curiously at Dex, and Dad is glaring icily at Mum, who is casually running her hand up a coral strut. Dex gazes between his parents, wondering briefly if he should speak, realizing instantly that it would be unwise. They need time alone, he decides firmly.

Dex moves toward Nathan, pulls his hand and whispers, "Come on." Nathan follows him obediently and they slink down the grating. The Doctor's eyes fleet briefly to Dex as he lays his hand on the door, but instantly dart back to Mum. Mum is watching Dex now, face questioning. "Where are you going?" she asks, amused.

Daleks, thinks Dex, cringing. He'd been hoping to get away unnoticed. "Well," he drawls, thinking of just how to phrase it. Rose's fade splits into a warm grin at the sight of her son, leaning casually on the door of the TARDIS, body tensed and positioned to slip outside on a moment's notice.

"We were just going to go find Torren," he says innocently, scratching his neck with his free hand. " I'm sure she'll be happy to see Nathan."

"No," his parents say in unison. Mum is still grinning, but her eyes are cautious, and Dex knows that she is wondering just what else might be waiting in the dark tunnels.

Dad, on the other hand, is staring at Dex intently, eyes wide and dark with fear, and Dex can see that he ins near the end of his emotional rope. Dex sighs, feels his heart break a little for his father, knows instinctively that it will be long time before he willingly allows Dex out of his sight.

"Right," he says meekly, stepping away from the door.

The Doctor sighs tiredly and rubs his hands into his cheeks. All he's wanted, from the very beginning, is to get his son off this planet, and now this. He is tired, so tired.

"I'll take you," he says, turning to the console stoically, lacking his usual enthusiasm as he programs the flight.

The TARDIS lands with her usual thunk, and he adjusts the view screen, sees people milling about outside.

Dex is watching over his shoulder. He turns to his son, sees the compassion in his bright green eyes, sinks down and pulls him into a fierce hug.

Dex instantly feels the tension that has settled deeply into the Doctor's body. He sighs, smiles sadly into his father's shoulder. "It's gonna be alright, Dad," he says seriously, and the Doctor feels his hearts break, feels the burn of tears building behind his eyes. Dex had called him Dad.

He smiles as best he can at his son. He does not answer, lays a hand on his shoulder instead. "Take Nathan. I'll be out in just a minute," he says lightly.

Dex nods solemnly, reaches for the Doctor's hand and squeezes it reassuringly. He walks down the grating, pausing to glance questioningly at Mum as he passes her. She smiles at him, a small real smile, and Dex nods, follows Nathan outside and shuts the door behind him.

He can feel the TARDIS's exasperation in his mind. He turns, smiles at her. "Ten quid says its longer than a minute," he tells her seriously, and he can feel her waves of amusement pulsing through him.

He turns to Nathan, who is staring at him wide-eyed. Dex just beams at him, knows that Dad will - eventually - work it out, knows that everything is going to be fantastic. "Come on," he says cheerfully to Nathan. "Lets find your sister."


	38. Chapter 37

The TARDIS door clicks shut, and Rose glances at the Doctor. He is leaning heavily on the console, staring intently at the view screen. She approaches him slowly, can feel the shimmering red of his presence in the back of her mind, feels the tension leaking off of him. His hands are clenched tightly, knuckles white, and his jaw is locked stiffly. She can see the dimple in his left cheek, the tiny vein that pulses above his temple, the hardness in his eyes and the weary slump of his shoulders. He looks utterly exhausted, worn far beyond his capacity, and it is all Rose can do not to wrap her arms gently around him.

She moves beside him instead, looking over his shoulder at the view screen. It is zoomed in on Dex and Nathan. Their backs are to the TARDIS and they are laughing. Rose glances at the Doctor, is shocked to see the depth of adoration in his eyes. She'd known, of course, that he would love Dex if he gave himself the chance, but seeing it written so plainly on his face, the magnitude and the intensity of it, hits her like a punch in the gut, nearly brings tears to her eyes. She'd had nothing to fear.

He watches her from the corner of his eye, everything that he wants in the whole universe. She looks the same, smells the same, he even thinks he can feel her golden presence humming faintly in the back of his mind, shoves it away roughly. It hurts beyond anything, this almost-Rose that he could so easily lose himself to, thinks he would, if not for his son. He wants her so badly, needs her, and it is affecting his judgement, makes him vulnerable.

He senses her gaze, turns and looks at her. His eyes are deep wells of regret and infinite sadness, are weary and hollow and ancient. It breaks her hearts to see him so shaken. He stares at her for a moment, blinking. "What do you want?" he asks finally, straightening and running his fingers half-heartedly through his hair.

She blinks at him. She hadn't been expecting that, doesn't know how to answer.

He watches her impassively, face carefully blank. She looks at him seriously. "Doctor, it's me," she says softly, reaching for his hand.

He flinches at her touch, pulls back as if burned. "Don't," he says roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing heavily. "Just- please, don't."

She backs away obligingly, decides that if space is what he needs, she will gladly give it to him.

Neither of them speak for a long while. The room is deathly still and silent, tension between them nearly palpable.

"What are you?" he chokes, finally.

'I'm not a Slitheen,' she nearly says, stops herself just in time. She cannot help it, she reaches forward and takes his hand. He flinches again, but does not pull away. She looks into his impossibly deep brown eyes, searching for some sort of connection there. She feels a slight tremor run through him, rubs her thumb gently across his knuckles. "I'm Rose Tyler," she says gently, hoping beyond hope that he understands, accepts her.

His face hardens and he rips away from her, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare," he snarls roughly. "Don't you dare speak her name." He thrusts the view screen sharply toward her, zooms in on Dex, who is giggling with Nathan.

"Do you see this little boy?" he asks her, eyes softening just slightly, never leaving the screen. "That's my son. He's-" his voice wavers and he catches himself, swallows. "He's only seven. Seven years old, and he's lost his mother, had to watch her die." He closes his eyes and inhales sharply at the memory. "So whatever it is you want, a body or a consciousness or-" he waves his hands, at a loss. "Just please, please not this one," he pleads in a broken whisper.

Rose is struck dumb. She's never seen the Doctor this broken, this honest, and it tears her to shreds, scares her thoroughly. She wonders what's happened in the years she's been gone to change him, wonders what she will have to do to have smiling, bouncy Doctor back, thinks fiercely that she will stop at nothing.

We're rubbish without each other, she realizes sharply, breath catching in her chest.

She decides to give him time, to back off and let him work it out on his own. There is nothing that she can say. "Right, then," she says softly, backing to the door of the TARDIS. "I'll just be outside, you know, if you need me."

She turns, and he watches her go, shakes with the effort of allowing her to walk away. I always need you, he nearly says, biting his treacherous tongue. 'What if?' whisper his hearts, and he shoves the thought away forcefully. Rose Tyler is dead. He knows, had watched, powerless.

Her hand touches the door and he snaps.

A strong hand grips her wrist and she is jerked backward, into his arms. They wrap around her like steel, and she barely has time to breath before his lips capture hers in a bruising kiss. It is messy, fierce, full of anger and desperation and unresolved grief, and he backs her forcefully against the console, crushing the backs of her legs. He is relentless, all teeth and lips and hot, wet tongue, and Rose learns very quickly how to engage her respiratory bypass system.

She manages to unbutton his jacket before he realizes what she is doing. His eyes flash dangerously, and he nips her bottom lip hard. She gasps, tastes the coppery tang of her blood, and he takes the opportunity to clench her wrists tightly and shove her hands away from him. He shrugs out of the jacket, lets it fall carelessly to the ground.

He roughly unzips her trousers, fingers shaking, and shoves them down her legs, knickers and all. He lifts her easily, dumps her savagely on the console, breathing heavily. The controls dig uncomfortably into her bare skin as he leans into her.

He buries himself in her with a soft grunt, and she gasps. She isn't ready, hadn't realized just how impossibly long and hard he is. He pins her arms to her sides and wraps his hands around them, fingers bruising the small of her back. He stretches her, stabs into her painfully, fills her so that Rose thinks she cannot possibly hold him all. He is hot and hard, hits all of the right places as he thrusts into her, deep and fast and savage, grasping the small of her back tightly for leverage. His hot breath hits her face in shuddering puffs and Rose shivers, can hardly distinguish the pleasure from the pain. His gaze locks on to her as he thrusts into her, eyes black and furious. It sets a fire on Rose's skin, and she shudders, feels the heat gathering deep in her belly.

All he can think as he buries himself in her is how wrong it is. She is too dry, warm but not wet, but he thrusts into her anyway, breathing heavily with the effort. He misses the gentle brush of her hands against his skin, realizes that his fingers ache from gripping her wrists so tightly, does not loosen his hold. He looks into her eyes, those warm amber eyes that are watching him carefully. They do not accuse, do not judge or blame, only look at him sadly, understanding. He shivers, resentful of her pity, fuels it into a raging fire that keeps him driving into her, though his hearts scream at him to stop. He cannot keep this up, the pace and the pain of it, and he pounds faster, desperate for relief, for an end to the hurt.

Rose is right on the edge when he shudders, spills into her with a low grunt. He leans into her shoulder, spent, and releases her hands. The fire in her belly slowly ebbs away, and she reaches up, gently runs her fingers through his sweaty hair. He trembles just slightly at her touch.

He finds no relief with release. He'd hoped to bury it all between her thighs, the grief and the guilt and the regret, but all that's abated is the anger. He'd needed it, the burning rage, the bitterness. It had kept him focused, but it is gone, washed away by a flood of exhaustion, and now he is just lonely and empty. He leans into her, breathes her scent and closes his eyes. She gently brushes her fingers through his hair, and it is so close, so almost exactly like her, that he nearly shatters, nearly lets her in.

He catches her gaze, nearly buckles under the weight of it. It is love and forgiveness and acceptance, and he shivers, finds that he cannot meet her eyes. He looks away, cannot allow himself to be vulnerable. He feels the gentle glow of his son's mind against his own, steels himself, strengthening his resolve. He pulls away, hastily zipping his trousers, and storms out of the room, leaving her half naked on the console.

She watches him go, hearts aching for him, had seen the hurt and the shame in his eyes, thinks that maybe she should have stopped him. She slides off the console and dresses slowly, mindful of the raw ache between her thighs. She's going to be very sore tomorrow.

She sighs heavily, wonders if she should go after him, wonders what she could possibly say, thinks that it probably isn't a good idea. She briefly considers checking on Dex, decides that she needs to fix this first, though she has no idea where to begin. Tea, she thinks, reverting to the simple, fix-all ritual of her childhood. I need tea.

She makes her way to the galley, grateful to find that it is still in the same spot she remembers. She absently fills the kettle, slumps on the table and waits for the water to boil.

She isn't angry with him, knows he's hurting, knows that it is not his fault that he cannot accept her. He deals in absolutes, in science and facts and impossibilities, and she is beyond his comprehension. Dex believed her dead, had, apparently, watched - her hearts clinch at the thought. She cannot imagine what is going through his mind right now, is touched by his fierce protectiveness of his son, wonders if it could be more than that, if he still feels the same way for her as she does for him. Obviously, he still finds her physically desirable, though that had never really been a question. She shakes her head. She has too much to worry about to complicate matters by trying to navigate the complexities and motivations of Time Lord sexual encounters.

The kettle whistles and she carefully makes her tea, measuring just the right amount of milk. She sets it on the table in front of her, watches it cool. She doesn't drink it.

She feels a presence at the door, looks up and meets his eyes. His face is unreadable, too many emotions for her to identify. He watches for for a moment, silently, then breaks his gaze and strides across the room toward the kettle. She watches him make his tea, and he can sense her gaze on his back. It agitates him, and he slams the kettle loudly on the counter, haphazardly dumps far too much sugar in his cup.

He leans against the counter, facing her, and stares into his cup of tea. She watches him carefully. There is a long moment of silence.

"I don't understand," he rasps quietly to the teacup.

She looks at him, thinks it is the most honest he's ever been. His face is suddenly unguarded, and he just looks sad and exhausted and vulnerable. It makes him look so young, she thinks, startled. He'd always been so alien, so above silly human emotions, unflappable, that Rose is struck by the sudden contrast. She takes him in, dark eyes and pale face and freckles, hair disheveled and expression defeated. He is in only his rumpled t-shirt and trousers, still smells of sex, and she thinks he might crash to the ground from sheer exhaustion.

She loves him so much.

His teacup shatters on the floor. She realizes, belatedly, that he'd dropped it, is staring at her intently, shock and disbelief and confusion written on his face, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open just slightly. She watches him, confused.

Oh, she thinks, blinking stupidly, realizing what she'd done.

She'd projected that thought.


	39. Chapter 38

He watches her for a long moment, brow furrowed, mouth hanging open slightly. A small, tortured sound rasps from deep within his throat, and he leaps forward, grips her shoulders tightly. "Rose," he grates, and she can feel him trembling. "You died," he breathes. "I watched. I saw you fall to the ground, I ran to you." He pauses, swallows hard at the memory. "I felt your skin grow cold," he whispers hoarsely. He cups her cheek gently in his hand, still staring at her intently, and runs his thumb lightly beneath her eye. "But you're here," he sighs, astonished. "I can feel you. Rose, why can I feel you?" he says desperately, eyes dark and pleading for an explanation.

It stabs her hearts, the raw desperation in his face, and she leans into him. He does not pull away. "Bad Wolf," she says simply.

His eyes widen and his hand drops from her face. "Impossible," he whispers.

She nearly rolls her eyes. "Suppose I should change my name, if you're gonna keep calling me that," she says, smiling at him, tongue peeking between her teeth.

It hits him, the familiar grin and the teasing pink tongue, and he crushes her into a fierce hug. "Rose, Rose, Rose," he breathes, burying his face into her hair. Here, he thinks, dazed. She's here. His brain cannot quite comprehend it; he feels as if he is in a fog, cannot think properly. He's missed her so much, longed for this moment for years, and finally, finally, she is here, and can't wrap his head around it.

"But, how?" he stammers, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes.

It would be adorable, she thinks, in another situation. He is staring at her, brow furrowed quizzically, confused and wide-eyed and deliciously out of his depth. She squirms, had been dreading this, wonders how to approach it. She remembers how beautifully her human Doctor had handled it, how he'd been straightforward and honest, even though he was clearly as shaken as she. She decides to follow his example. "I regenerated," she says shyly, pulling self-consciously at the cuff of her sleeve. "I'm like you now." She pauses, remembers how she hadn't changed. "Sort of."

He stares at her, gaze dark and unreadable. It sinks in, and his eyes widen, his fingers automatically finding the groove of her wrist, settling over her pulse point. He looks at her hand carefully, feels the odd, double-beated rhythm of her heart. He is deathly still, and her hearts sink in her chest.

Slowly, he moves, gently reaches up and runs his fingers across her face, leans close to her and closes his eyes, breathing her in. He pulls her to his chest, murmurs something she cannot distinguish into her hair. He realizes, abruptly, that she is standing before him, everything he never dreamed he could have, the deepest desires of his hearts that he never deserved. He laughs suddenly, and it startles her, the harsh barking sound of it, as if it had forced its way out her throat. He wraps his arms around her, clings to her tightly. "Oh, I love impossible," he breathes into her ear, and she can feel the tiny hum of his happiness in the back of her mind.

She pulls back, watching his face carefully. "So, it's alright, then?" she asks hesitantly.

It stabs him deeply, her fear of rejection, and he vehemently regrets every time he'd pushed her away, every lie, each missed opportunity. He should have told her every day, should have held her in his arms, should have let her know she was beautiful, not just for a human, should have pulled her close and snogged her breathless, should have seized every precious second that had been gifted to him. I will, he thinks fiercely, realizing abruptly that he's been offered a second chance. "Rose Tyler," he says softly, looking her seriously in the eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he chokes, cannot force them out of his throat. "It's brilliant," he rasps, and he laughs, pulls her to him and spins her around.

She giggles, and the sound pierces him, tugs at his soul. Oh, he's missed her. He sets her down gently, watches her, grinning and laughing, thinks he's never seen anything so beautiful in all of his lives. He can feel the shimmering gold of her presence in the back of his mind. Forever, he thinks fiercely, and the image unfolds before him, he and Rose and Dex in the TARDIS, saving planets and running for their lives and drinking chai tea. It is beautiful, and he feels the burn of tears building behind his eyes.

She sees him fall silent, reaches for his hand. He takes it absently, and she reaches up and gently runs her thumb over his jaw. He swallows, takes a shuddering breath, and kisses her.

It is a completely different kiss, hesitant and awe-struck and reverent. He explores her mouth slowly, gently, and it awakens the fire deep in her belly, and she groans into him. He shudders, deepens the kiss, sucking softly at her bottom lip. She hisses softly, and he tastes the metallic tang of her blood, pulls back quickly.

"Oh, Rose," he breathes, eyes shadowed with remorse and shame. He gently brushes a finger over her swollen lip, feels his hearts twist in his chest at the memory of how he'd treated her. "I'm sorry." He rests his forehead against hers, cannot look her in the eye after what he's done. "I can fix it," he says softly, tugging on her hand.

She plants her feet. She's had enough sexual frustration today to last a lifetime. "It's fine," she says firmly, pulling him closer. "Just keep doing what you were doing."

He watches her, torn. She looks at him darkly, and he caves, kisses her forehead gently, apologetically.

She trails little kisses across his jawline, and he takes a shuddering breath. Oh, he's missed her.

"Bedroom?" she breathes, nibbling on his ear, and he is jerked out of his trance, gently lifts her in his arms and carries her down the halls of the TARDIS.

She watches him carefully, wide-eyed. He is usually not one for romantic gestures. He gazes at her darkly, eyes full of lust and awe and astonished reverence. He opens the door, sets gently on the ground. She moves to pull of her jacket, but he stops her, sliding it slowly off her shoulders, running his hands lightly down her arms. She shivers appreciatively; they are warm and gentle, their touch sending an electric current though her skin, and she squirms, needs him.

He takes his time, peppering her jaw with tiny kisses, trailing his hands delicately down her shoulders, over her shirt. They hover at the small of her back, just teasing at the hemline. She can feel the heat of his body, not quite pressed against her, and she leans into him, desperate for the contact. His fingers drift lightly up her back, beneath her shirt now, and he holds her there for a moment, reveling in the warmth of her skin on his. He closes his eyes, listens to the steady rush of her breathing, takes in her scent and the glow of her arousal in his mind. Real, he reminds himself happily.

He peels her shirt over her head, runs his fingers down the bare skin of her belly. She trembles slightly beneath his hands, and he remembers, suddenly, that she is ticklish. He shakes his head, wonders sadly how he could have forgotten. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, trails his tongue lightly across her frenzied pulse, tastes her salty skin and her arousal. He nips at her clavicle and unclasps her bra, and oh, her hands are in his hair. He nearly loses his control, sinks to his knees and shakily unbuttons her trousers, slides them gently down her legs. She steps out of them obligingly, and he trails tiny, feathery kisses up the inside of her thigh, stopping just before he reaches her core.

"Doctor," she breaths shakily, and he looks up at her, eyes so dark that it takes her breath away. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her gently into bed with him, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere, warm and solid and gentle, and she's never felt so worshipped, so loved. He lavishes each part of her body, reveling in the warmth of her skin, tasting her, cataloging every change, savoring each moment. He can feel the tug of his mind at hers, an instinctive attempt to complete the partial bond, and he shoves it back, straining with the effort and trembling at the brush of her hands over his bare skin.

Finally, when she thinks she can bear it no longer, he enters her, pausing to gather himself, catching his breath and gazing into her eyes. He moves deliberately, slow and deep and achingly wonderful, and Rose thinks she will not last long enough for him to finish.

He murmurs to her between thrusts, and the foreign syllables are like music, dancing across her skin and crashing into her hearts. It is beautiful and visceral, tears at her, and she instinctively reaches out to him with her mind.

He stills, gazing at her in shock, eyes wide and dark. "Rose-" he grates, but she cuts him off.

"Shh," she says softly, running her hands across his face. "It's alright."

He blinks and swallows hard, and his mind crashes into hers with a force that takes her breath away. She can feel him, the cacophony of his swirling emotions, his shock at finding her, here, alive, his joy at touching her again, all of his past regrets and the shame of his initial reaction to her, his elation at the discovery of their son. But drowning it all is his profound, all encompassing love. It pours over her, and she is awed at the intensity of it, had never in her wildest dreams imagined that he'd felt this deeply for her, realizes, shocked, that he always had.

Tears roll down her cheeks, and she loves him, so much that it consumes her, that nothing she can possibly say will ever be enough. She needs be closer to him, reaches out and pours herself into him, and he gasps, and she suddenly feels everything he is feeling, the erratic drumming of his hearts and the slick warmth of her body around his, the deep fire of arousal that burns through him. Something passes between them, hot and electric, and her skin tingles. It is an explosion of sensation, and they are suddenly one, hearts pounding and breaths shuddering, emotions and memories swirling between them. She sees him, all of him, knows his secrets and his past and his name, and she can feel him firmly in her mind, a shimmering red presence entwined intimately with her gold, feels him tremble as he explodes into her, and she follows him, shattering into a million pieces.

She comes to to find him propped on his elbows, staring at her, eyes large and warm. He smiles down at her tenderly, and she can feel him, his deep adoration and astonishment. She grins and he leans down and kisses her gently on the forehead, sends her waves of happiness and love.

She looks at him quizzically, doesn't remember sex with him ever being quite like that. "What, exactly, did we just do?" she asks, nuzzling into his shoulder. She isn't complaining.

He laughs, cocks an eyebrow at her. "You," he says lightly, punctuating the word with a gently kiss on her forehead, "just initiated a bond with me."

She furrows her brow and watches him carefully. She's not really sure of the implications of what she's done, but it sounds thoroughly domestic, and she wonders why he isn't pulling away from her, dashing manically about the TARDIS and staging an elaborate distraction.

He sighs heavily, and she feels a stab of regret, his regret, and she remembers that he is, apparently, permanently in her head now. He wraps her in his arms and pulls her close.

"Rose," he says softly, voice low and serious. "I've never wanted anything more." He pauses, seems to be gathering himself. "I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair, and she senses the sincerity behind his words.

She squeezes his hand. "What do you mean, bond?" she asks him, murmuring into his shirt.

He squirms. "It's a common adaptation in telepaths, nearly every species practices it, in some form or another."

She can feel his nervousness, senses how he dances around the issue, is working himself into a full-blown, babbling lecture. "Doctor-" she says warningly, and he cuts her off.

"I suppose," he says, scratching furiously at his neck. "I suppose you could say we're married, in a sense."

She stares at him, wide-eyed, wrinkling her nose in confusion. It's the last thing she'd ever expected to come out of his mouth.

He takes her silence as disapproval, runs a hand furiously through his hair. "Not married, exactly," he stammers. "Gallifreyans have no concept of marriage; it isn't practiced. More like... like life partners, like biological mates, like-"

Marriage, she thinks smugly, smiling at him devilishly.

He sits up, pulls at his ear. "Right, yes. I suppose." He pauses, fidgeting, and she nearly laughs at his obvious unease. "We can undo it, if you want," he says quietly. "Well, I say we can undo it. I'm not exactly sure how. It's sort of meant to be... permanent." His eyes meet hers and he panics, scratches at his neck again. "But we could undo it." He looks at his hands, sighs softly.

"Doctor."

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to undo it."

He blinks at her, pulls her into a fierce hug. "Brilliant," he breathes, and she laughs at him, her silly Time Lord. She wonders abruptly how the human Doctor will feel about it, feels her hearts twist in her chest.

"Doctor, can a human and a Time Lord bond?" she asks, looking at him curiously.

He sighs, and she sees an age old sadness in his eyes. "No," he says quietly, not looking at her. "Humans aren't telepathic. Their brains don't have the capacity for it." He pulls her close, runs his fingers through her hair. "I had to be so careful with you," he confesses softly. "It's instinctive, for me." He is quiet for a moment, remembering all of the times he'd had to hold himself back, how much will power it had taken.

He smiles at her. "But you," he says, squeezing her shoulder proudly. "You changed your biology for me," he laughs, astounded by how much this brilliant girl loves him, thinks fiercely to himself that one day, he will deserve it.

She snuggles into his chest, warmed by the pride and adoration he feels for her. "Wasn't exactly how I'd planned to go about telling you," she mutters into his shirt.

He gives a startled little laugh, kisses her cheerfully on the forehead. "I am absolutely not protesting your methods," he says happily.

She grins at him, and they are silent for a moment, each taking in the presence of the other.

"Will I always be able to feel you?" she asks suddenly. "I mean, what if we get separated?"

He shifts, purses his lip. "Dunno. I've never been bonded before." He runs a finger lovingly down her nose.

She snuggles closer to him, remembers the eight long years she'd spent without him. "Let's try not to find out, yeah?"

He looks at her seriously. "Yeah," he grates, wrapping his arms tightly around her.


	40. Chapter 39

Dex grips Nathan's hand tightly. "How did you get away from Eleazar?" he asks, scanning the room for bright blue eyes and a long, brown braid. Torren is not here.

Nathan looks at the strange little boy who is gripping his hand tightly. "I'm not sure," he says honestly. "It was almost like a fog lifted, and I could remember again." He shakes his head at the memory of the icy fingers leaving his mind.

"He released you," Dex says seriously, looking wide-eyed at Nathan.

Nathan is uncomfortable under the bright green gaze. "Yeah," he says simply. "I suppose so."

Dex squeezes his hand. "I'm glad you're alright," he says seriously, instinctively knowing that it is a miracle that Nathan can remember anything at all. He pauses. "You are alright?" he asks, looking up at Nathan speculatively.

Nathan shrugs. "I suppose," he says, thinking that Dex is very much like his father. "At first, I could t remember much. My head hurt, and things came back slowly. But I remember now." Nathan pauses, furrows his brow. "I think."

Dex smiles at him. "Don't worry. I bet Torren can make you remember."

Nathan reflects on the fuzzy memories he has of his older sister. He nods, is inclined to agree with Dex. "Where is she?" he asks, suddenly shy.

Dex shrugs. "Dunno. Suppose we should ask someone." Dex releases his hand and strides purposely toward an older man who is sitting on the stone floor, pulling rope out of a box and winding it carefully into a ball. "Hello!" he says cheerfully.

The man looks up, and Dex notices that his kind, hazel eyes widen in surprise. "Hello," he says slowly, trying to place if he's seen Dex before.

Dex leans casually against the wall of the cave. "Don't suppose you could tell me where Torren is?" The man is looking at him quizzically, and Dex fidgets under his gaze. "It's just, I have a delivery."

Zeke looks at the little boy, thinks he may have seen him before. He nods absently. "You might try the west cavern, near the storeroom," he says, pointing his finger to a tunnel to their left.

"Right, thanks!" says Dex, reaching for Nathan's hand and pulling him across the cavern with him.

Zeke watches them go, can't shake he nagging sense of familiarity. He shrugs and reruns to his task whistling quietly.

Rose leans into the Doctor's chest and sighs happily. He shifts, runs a finger gently down her jawline - he still cannot quite believe he is here, after so long - thinks his hearts will burst from happiness.

It floods her, his boundless joy, and she smiles at him, nuzzles happily into his shoulder. She can feel him poking tentatively at their bond, exploring it, delighting in it, and her hearts swell.

She remembers abruptly that it's been hours since she'd seen her human Doctor, had nearly forgotten him in the chaos of the past day. Guilt tugs at her, and she sits up, can feel the Time Lord's concern in the back of her mind.

He follows her, wraps his arms around her. "What's wrong?" he murmurs gently in her ear.

She sighs, leans back into him. "I came here with you," she says slowly, and his brow furrows. "I mean, the other you. Human you."

His eyes widen and he stiffens, quickly blocking his swirling emotions. He remembers, suddenly, the human's last words. 'Tell Rose,' he had said. 'Tell her it was fantastic.'

He squashes the irrational jealousy, cannot believe he's been so thick. Of course, the human wouldn't have told her he was dying. Leave it to me, he thinks bitterly, tightening his grip just slightly on Rose, dread building in his hearts at the prospect of telling her, fear that she will reject him, the pain of knowing that it will hurt her.

She feels him stiffen, senses his shock just before he pulls his thoughts away from her. It scares her, his reaction, and she turns to look him in the eyes, bereft at the loss of his mind against his.

His face is carefully blank, his eyes dark and sad. He looks at her, takes a deep breath. "Rose-" he starts softly.

"You've seen him." she says firmly. She knows.

He watches her carefully, nods slowly, and she even though he has shielded himself from her, she can feel the tension rolling off of him in great waves.

"What?" she chokes, dread settling deep down in her hearts.

Oh, he has no idea what to say. He can see that it will hit her hard, the knowledge, and he aches for her, knows exactly what she is going to feel, what he is about to put her through. He wishes more than anything to hide it, to fabricate a happy lie and whisk her away, to protect her from the truth. But he can see the dread in her eyes, knows that she in not the same naive girl who'd run away with him all those years ago, knows he is not the same man.

He breathes shakily, takes her hand gently and runs his thumb across her knuckles. "He explained to you about the metacrisis?" he asks softly, forcing himself look her in the eyes.

She nods, doesn't speak, and he continues. "He's- he's mostly human now," he says haltingly, thinking that he would much rather share her, or give her up all together, than break her hearts. "In nearly every way that counts," he finishes quietly, squeezing her hand gently.

Hot anger wells in her chest, and she leans forward, eyes flashing. "It does not matter to me," she says fiercely.

He blinks, realizes that she's misinterpreted his statement, astonished at the fierce devotion that she shows to him, any him in any form, wonders what he'd ever done to deserve it. "Rose, that's not what I meant," he whispers, brushing her hair back behind her ears.

"What then?" she explodes, and he pulls her close, wants her near him. She resists, but he tugs at her gently, insistently, and she finds herself leaning into him anyway, surprised at just how comforting it is.

He lays a soft kiss in her hair. "Rose, were you ever exposed to any green gas?" he asks carefully. "It would have been recently, on this planet," he tells her, remembering the scenery from the human's memory.

She furrows her brow. "I'm not sure," she says slowly. Her eyes widen. "There was a bomb, and a hissing sound. It knocked me out. I can't remember," she says honestly. "Why?"

He squeezes her. That would have been it, then. "And you were separated not long afterward?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

She nods. "Yeah," she says softly. "The bridge gave out, beneath my feet. I jumped, made it to the ledge, but he was on the other side, with Elliot."

He tightens his grip on her at the mental image, thankful that she's okay. "Rose," he says gently, looking into her eyes carefully. "There was gas, in the bomb. He got caught in it." He pauses, remembers the thick, chocking green cloud, the sickly sweet taste that had coated his throat and seeped into his lungs. "It was poisonous," he finishes quietly.

Something clicks in her mind, but she shoves it vehemently away, and he can see the denial building in her eyes. His hearts clinch. "But I'm fine," she says softly, and he takes her cheek in his hand, gently runs his thumb over her temple.

"Rose," he whispers roughly, wishing vehemently that she didn't have to go through this. "You aren't human anymore."

"So?" she chokes, and he is reminded painfully of a cold, windy beach, of tears and unfinished phrases and three broken hearts. He holds her for a moment, remembering, not sure what to say.

It sinks in, the implication, and she suddenly has to know, needs to see for herself. "Show me," she murmurs, eyes far away.

It tears at his hearts, and he thinks that he shouldn't, can't let her see. "Rose-" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"Show me!" she hisses, eyes flashing dangerously, and he closes his eyes, cannot deny her anything.

"Come here," he whispers, pulling gently at her, and she allows him to hold her, leans her head into his chest. "Are you sure?" he asks softly, and she nods into his shoulder, finds that she cannot speak.

She feels the bond tug gently at her, lets him in, and suddenly she is lying in an open field, chained to a tree, staring into a pair of warm, brown eyes.

He shows her all of it, the confusion and their conversation, his slow realization that something is wrong, the moment he knows. "Tell her it was fantastic," he says, and she flinches in his arms.

He slowly draws away from her, and she realizes that tears are rolling down her cheeks, rubs them away furiously. "We have to go back," she says in a broken whisper.

He rests his lips in her hair, rubs his hands across her back.

She jerks away from him."We have to go get him!" she cries, shoving him lightly in the chest.

He closes his eyes lightly, had been afraid of this. "Rose-"

"Take me to him!"

He sighs heavily, runs his face in his hands. "Rose, he's dead," he says simply, muffled behind his hands. He doesn't want to see her cry over his body, thinks it will break him, and her, too.

"He's not!" she cries hotly. She pauses, and her brow furrows. "He just regenerated, that's all."

He flinches, tries to take her hand, but she pulls away from him, standing. "I won't leave him," she says softly.

He pulls at his hair, knows that she will not believe it until she sees for herself. He stands slowly, offers her his hand, and she folds her arms across her chest defiantly. "Right," he says quietly, doing his best not to feel hurt by her rejection. "Come on."

Dex nearly runs flat into Torren as he rounds a corner in the passage. "Torren!" he cries happily, and she pulls him into a quick hug.

"Alright?" she asks, and Dex nods.

She sinks to her knees in front of Dex. "Did they find Elliot?" she asks seriously. She still as not noticed Nathan.

Dex squirms. "Not yet," he says quickly. Torren's face falls, and he tugs gently at her hand. "But we found someone else."

Torren looks at him questioningly, and Dex steps aside, leans against the stone wall with a wide grin on his face.

Torren stands abruptly, notices the boy for the first time. "Nathan?" she whispers hoarsely, not daring to hope, and Nathan runs to her, all of his doubts forgotten. "Yeah," he says simply, and Torren flings herself at him, wraps her arms around him and runs her fingers through his hair, thinks with a shock how tall he's gotten.

Dex watches them for a moment, grinning like a loon. He shakes his head wryly, glad that things can be simple for some people, and slips out of the passageway, unnoticed.

He re-enters the large room, notices that the TARDIS is no longer sitting conspicuously in the corner of the cavern, decides that Mum and Dad will find him when they're ready. He nods smugly, notes that it has already been 28 minutes.

He looks speculatively around the cavern, wondering what to do while he waits. He thinks it could be a while.

He notices the older man watching him curiously. Dex meets his gaze, and the man smiles at him. Dex approaches him, leaning against the wall.

"Did you find Torren?" the man asks, returning to his work.

"Yup!" says Dex happily, grinning widely.

Zeke looks at the little boy, suddenly struck by the resemblance. "You look like your mother," he says, smiling.

Dex raises an eyebrow. It's a compliment he doesn't receive very often. He knows he does, a little bit, but people are usually too distracted by the dark hair and the green eyes and the freckles to notice. He grins at the man. "Yeah, I do," he says proudly.

The man smiles back at him. "I'm Zeke," he says kindly, dipping his head politely.

"Dex," says Dex, leaning down to have a better look at the rope that Zeke is folding. "What are you doing?"

"I'm measuring out this rope for Torren" Zeke says. He shakes his head sadly. "We don't have near enough to rebuild the bridge."

Dex grins. "Don't worry," he says proudly. "My dad's here. He'll get Elliot."

Zeke laughs tiredly, shaking his head. "Son, unless your Dad can fly, nobody will be getting to Elliot anytime soon."

"Funny thing," mutters Dex, smiling to himself, and Zeke looks at him curiously, but lets it go.

"Can I help?" Dex asks eagerly, and Zeke nods, showing him how to fold the rope.

The TARDIS lands exactly where he tells her, in the middle of an empty field. He tentatively steps out, and she follows him. He can see the remains of the camp, deserted now, and reaches for her hand. He is relieved when she takes it, and he slowly leads her to the tree where he'd been chained the night before. He stops, stares, runs his hands through his hair.

He is not here.

There is no evidence that he'd ever been here at all; the chains are gone, and the ground is undisturbed. She pushes past him, eyes frantically searching the area. "This is it!" she says, and he can hear the hope rising in her voice. It nearly shatters him. She whirls around, laughing. "I told you! We've got to find him!"

He sighs heavily, takes her hand. "Rose," he says softly. "Those soldiers were hunting me. They're gone now, and they would have taken him with them."

She shakes her head, pulls her hand away from him. "No," she says in a broken whisper, looking back at the fallen tree. "He regenerated."

He runs his hands furiously through his hair, hearts aching for her. "Rose, he was human. He couldn't regenerate."

He can see it sink in, knows by the grief in her eyes that she knows it, too. He reaches for her, and her face hardens, and she shoves him roughly away, pushing at his chest. "Why did you leave him?" she spits, shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He steps back slightly, though all he wants is to wrap her in his arm and never let her go. "Rose, I couldn't stop it," he says quietly, wishes more than anything that he could have.

She sniffs, doesn't look at him. "You didn't have to leave him," she says in a chokes whisper.

He can't help it, he steps closer, reaches for her hand. "Rose, I'm sorry," he breathes in her ear. "I didn't know."

She whips around, slaps him in the face so hard that he sees stars. "Don't you dare act like that would have made a difference," she hisses, and she floods him with images of the past; Sarah Jane and Jack, her sitting alone on a spaceship, sick with worry while he galavanted about in 18th century France, her human Doctor, abandoned at Torchwood with nothing but a sonic screwdriver. He winces, knows its true, knows he deserves her anger and so much more.

"I know," he says softly, and his acceptance of it infuriates her; she had wanted him to deny it, to rise to the bait, but his gentle honesty is making it difficult for her to stay angry, and she thinks that she might hate him, knows that she doesn't.

She turns away from him, suddenly guilty, and stares at the broken tree, remembering. "He knew, didn't he?" she whispers finally, thinking of the heated moment when he'd wrapped her forcefully in his arms and murmured to her in Gallifreyan, his fierce protectiveness, his intense, burning gaze as he'd watched her across the chasm. The Doctor doesn't answer, but she doesn't need him to. She knows.

She sniffs, rubs at her cheeks. "I loved him," she murmurs softly, doesn't even realize she's spoken aloud.

He knows she doesn't mean it, not like that, but it hurts anyway. He hesitantly steps closer to her, and she lets him, falls into his chest and sniffs. His arms are warm and strong as they wrap around her, and she can feel the steady beat of his hearts against her cheek, and she realizes, suddenly, that she is so very glad that he's here, that she doesn't have to bear this alone.

She sobs into his shoulder and he holds her, rubs her back gently and wonders where they go from here.


	41. Chapter 40

He holds her for a very, very long time, and she clings to him tightly, shuddering with tiny sobs. She runs out of tears, thinks that there will never be enough, but still she burrows into his chest, takes deep shuddering breaths and allows him to comfort her, warm and strong a solid. She thinks the raw edge of grief will never fade, but slowly she becomes aware of other things, how silent he is, his long fingers spread protectively on her back, the soft woosh of his breathing. She thinks about how different he is now- the old him would never have held her close while she'd mourned another man, would have shied away from her tears - but her is here, doing exactly that, and it is exactly what she needs. She breathes him in, warm and wild, feels the steady beat of his hearts against her cheek, realizes that she has been given a precious gift.

Her breath catches, and she shifts. He meets her gaze, and his eyes are so warm and accepting and tender, full of regret and gentle understanding, that suddenly, she knows, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he loves her. It washes over her, the knowledge, moves deep into her soul. It is achingly beautiful, and she feels the tears begin anew.

He watches her mourn him, sees the fresh tears roll down her cheeks, and he nearly shatters, wonders what the human could have possibly done to deserve such fierce devotion, hope fervently that one day, he can earn it, too. He rests his lips gently on her forehead, loves her so much that it hurts, has no idea how to tell her.

She pulls back so that she can look him in the eyes, lightly runs her hand over his cheek, still reddened from where she'd slapped him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and his eyes are so gentle that it nearly breaks her. He leans forward and lightly kisses her forehead.

"Shh," he says softly, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I know."

They stand that way for a moment, and he slowly pulls away from her, gives her some space. She turns, looks at the broken tree again, thinks that she will always mourn her human Doctor, will always miss him, but she has her Time Lord here, finally, and she knows that he is hurting, too, that they need each other. She decides not to waste another moment. She tentatively takes his hand, gives him a soft, sad smile, showers him with her thoughts, her memories, all of her love.

He blinks at her, startled, slowly realizing what she is offering, and his face lights into a huge grin, and he grips her hand tightly.

Dex and Zeke work quietly, winding the rope into large, neat piles. Dex is a quick learner, Zeke had found, eager to help and skilled with his hands. Zeke has hardly finished his first explanation before Dex had enthusiastically grabbed his own rope from the box, twisting it deftly in his little hands and laying his own, perfect little pile near Zeke's. If Zeke is totally honest - and Zeke is always totally honest - he is having a difficult time keeping up with Dex.

They are nearly finished sorting the rope when Torren appears out of the west passage, followed by Nathan. They are both smiling, and Dex beams at them in return, happy to find that things had gone smoothly for them.

"Dex," she calls softly, and Dex finishes his last knot, sets it carefully in the pile with the others, and runs to Torren.

She grabs him and spins him in the air. "Thank you," she breathes, setting him down, and Dex just shrugs.

"It was Dad that did it, not me."

She drops to her knees in front of Dex. "I'm going to thank him, too," she says, looking him seriously in the eye.

Dex grins at her, and she pulls him into another hug. Dex hears the familiar grind of the TARDIS materialization sequence, and Torren releases Dex, stands up in anticipation. The doors creak open, and Elliot steps out, eyes darting about the cavern. Torren freezes, watching him from across the room as if she isn't quite sure what to do. Dex rolls his eyes and nudges her with his elbow.

"Snog him."

Torren's eyes widen, and she looks down at Dex. "I'm sorry?" she squeaks.

Dex shrugs. "Don't be thick, Torren. You love him, it's obvious."

Torren gives a startled little laugh, and Dex nudges her again. She looks up, sees that Elliot's gaze has locked on hers. They stare at each other across the room, and time slows. Dex is just about to give up on them entirely when Torren gives a soft little squeak and runs to him. Elliot blinks, realizes what is happening just a second before she barrels into him, flinging his arms open just in time to catch her.

Dex turns away and looks at Nathan, who looks a little green. "You don't have to watch," he informs him, and Nathan nods, wide-eyed.

Dex turns his attention to the TARDIS, watches as his dad herds the last of a large group of black-clad men out the door. They are all staring absently, and Dex has a sinking feeling that he knows why. He shudders.

Dad clicks the door shut, and his gaze flicks quickly across the room, searching.

"Dad!" calls Dex, and Dad's face lights up as Dex runs to him.

"Oof," he grunts as Dex flings himself into his arms. Dex laughs and snuggles into his shoulder.

The Doctor's hearts swell as he holds his son, and he takes a shakey breath, allows himself to hope for the first time that, maybe, everything will be alright.

The TARDIS door creaks, and Dex watches Mum step out. Her eyes are red and puffy, and Dex realizes, with a shock, that she's been crying. He slides out of Dad's arms, reaches over to grab her hand. "Alright?" he asks seriously, big green eyes looking up at her with concern.

She sinks down and smiles warmly at him. "Absolutely," she says softly, looking over Dex's shoulder at Dad, who is standing awkwardly to the side, watching them carefully. She stands and smiles at him, too, and slowly he returns her grin, warm brown eyes flickering between his bond-mate and his son, as if he still can't quite believe they're really here.

Dex reaches over and takes his hand, tugs at Mum with the other. Like this, he thinks firmly, knowing they can both hear him. Mum grins and him and squeezes his hand, but Dad watches him silently, eyes dark and face unreadable.

The Doctor watches his son, feels the threatening burn of tears in his eyes. He gazes at them, his family, he thinks, awestruck at the thought, feels the comforting glow of their happiness in his mind. In a split second, he swings Dex into his arms, pulls at Rose with his free hand, and crushes them both into a fierce hug, clings to them desperately and floods them both with his joy and astonishment and love.

He blinks back tears, knows that the words are long overdue for them both. He swallows, grips them tightly. "I love you," he manages finally, in a choked whisper. "I love you both, so much."

Dex just giggles. "We know, Dad," he says patiently, nuzzling into his shoulder and returning the words in his mind.

He feels Rose's astonishment through their bond, pulls just slightly away and looks down at her. She is staring at him in shock, eyes wide and wet. He grins at her, leans down and kisses her lightly on her lips, which are hanging open just slightly. Dex sends them both the mental equivalent of an eye-roll, and the Doctor laughs, thinks that he will never be able to stop laughing.

Dex squirms, and the Doctor gently sets him down. "What?" he asks, in response to Dex's unspoken question.

"Dad," says Dex in a hushed whisper, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "We need to show Mum the aurora!"

The Doctor smiles down at his son, glances at Rose, who is still blinking at him, still wide-eyed. "That," he says to Dex, gently ruffling his hair, "is a brilliant idea."


	42. Chapter 41

Dex is sitting at the kitchen table, carefully slicing a banana. Mum is flipping a pancake, humming happily along with 'Hit Me with you Rhythm Stick', which is playing quietly in the background. Dex smiles. Mum had always made banana pancakes to Ian Dury, and now he knows why.

Dad is in the console room, taking a moment to lock the TARDIS in stasis. They've just left Karphelox, and Dad had said that they all could use a little time in the vortex.

Dex couldn't agree more.

Torren and Elliot had quickly taken control of the refugee camp, herding the blank soldiers into their own area of the cavern. Some of them had begun to wake up, and Dex is hopeful that they can begin a new life, though he doubts they will ever get their memory back.

Dad had talked quietly with Torren and Elliot about the situation with Eleazar. Torren had nodded seriously and gripped Elliot's hand. Dex isn't sure what they've decided to do.

He'd seen Nathan standing awkwardly in a corner, had slid beside him and nudged his shoulder. "Alright?" he'd asked, seriously.

Nathan had blinked at him. "Yeah," he'd said slowly. "Just, I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean?" asked Dex curiously.

Nathan had squirmed. "It's just... I don't know any of these people. I haven't lived my own life in six years, and..." He'd looked sadly at Dex. "I don't know where to go from here," he'd admitted quietly.

Dex had scanned the room quickly, found Zeke patiently unwinding the rope they'd stacked earlier in the day and laying it carefully in it's box. There was no need for it now; Dad had fixed the bridge.

He'd gripped Nathan's hand, crossed the room. "Zeke!"

Zeke had looked up and smiled at him. "Dex," he'd called cheerfully.

Dex had settled on the floor beside Zeke, had pulled Nathan beside him. "This is Nathan," he'd said seriously. "He's new, and he doesn't know anyone. Can you help him?"

Zeke had looked appraisingly at Nathan. "Torren's Nathan?" he'd asked, eyes wide and astonished.

Nathan had nodded silently, and Zeke's face had broken into a crooked grin. He'd flung his arms around Nathan. "We've heard all about you," he'd said, clapping Nathan solidly on the back. "Welcome home!"

Nathan had smiled, and Dex had slipped quietly away, grinning widely.

They'd left soon afterward, with Torren wrapping Dex into a crushing hug, telling him to visit soon. Dex had grinned as he noticed Dad's face pale just slightly.

They'd entered the TARDIS, and Dad had hastily sent them into the vortex. Mum had insisted on celebratory banana pancakes.

Dex feels Dad enter the room, looks up happily. Dad is leaned against to doorway, gazing at into the room with wide eyes. Dex wonders how long it will take before he can look at them without that expression of shell-shocked joy on his face, as if he can't believe they're really here.

"Dad," says Dex, grinning up at him, and he blinks, smiles down at his son and settles beside him, cannot believe how extremely lucky he is.

Dex is curled on his knees in his chair, leaned over the table and deftly slicing bananas with a large knife. The Doctor watches his son for a moment, thinks he is chopping the bananas much too fast.

"Let me help?" he asks softly, and Dex obligingly lays down the knife, shoots him a look that says he knows exactly what his father is playing at.

Dex watches as Dad clumsily slices the banana, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Dad," he whines, and Dad looks at him quizzically.

Dex sighs and shakes his head. "You're cutting them too large," he informs his father patiently. "You want a slice of banana, not a chunk of banana."

The Doctor cocks an eyebrow at his son. "Oi!" he says indignantly. "What's wrong with a chunk of banana?"

Rose silently watches her boys huddled over the kitchen table, enthusiastically debating the proper banana to pancake ratio. She grins, sliding the last pancake on a plate and settling it in front of them.

They both fall silent, and she is suddenly the focus of two intense stares, one brown and one green. They gaze at her, her Time Lords, and she grins back at them, feels her hearts swell in her chest. "What?" she asks pointedly, eyebrow cocked and tongue between her teeth.

Dex returns her grin, but the Doctor just blinks at her, looks at her as if he'd forgotten she is here. "Nothing," he breathes, eyes never leaving her face.

Dex watches them for a moment, catches the heated glance that passes between them. His gaze flickers between his parents, watches their eyes carefully. Something nags at him, and he blinks, realizing that he knows exactly who had rescued him from Eleazar's guards. He grins, hides away the knowledge.

"Mum," he drawls, and they both look at him questioningly. He grins, nudges his father on the shoulder. "Tell Dad that his banana slices are too big."

"Oi!" says Dad, ruffling his hair cheerfully, and Mum laughs.

Rose wakes to find the bed empty. She sits up, probes curiously at their bond, senses him humming contentedly in the back of her mind. Strange that he's not here with her; in the week since she'd found him, he'd hardly let her out of his sight, was constantly holding her hand or leaning on her shoulder or lightly kissing her forehead, and he'd never, ever, let her wake up alone.

She stretches, pads to the galley for a cup of tea, poking her head into the study on her way, but it is empty. She wonders where else he would be.

She pours a cup for him, chai with lots of sugar, remembers that he'd an uncanny ability to sense the kettle boiling, had always found her here when she couldn't sleep.

She sips her tea, waits for him, but he does not come. She pokes at her bond, but he is silent, and she wonders if he's fallen asleep in the library. It wouldn't be the first time.

She slips silently down the halls of the TARDIS, hoping that the library has not moved. She's not concerned, not exactly, just wants to see him, to be sure he's okay. He's so different now.

She finds him standing outside of Dex's room, poking his head in the doorway. She smiles at the sight of him, barefoot and in his t-shirt. She leans into him, wraps her arms around him from behind and looks up at him.

He is staring at their son, just watching him sleep. His face is carefully blank, but his eyes are full of astonishment, and Rose smiles up at him. He does not acknowledge her, does not speak for a long while.

"Rose," he whispers softly, eyes large and shining. She looks at him. He swallows, never takes his eyes off of Dex. "Rose, we have a son," he manages finally, stunned.

Rose grins at him. "I know," she says patiently, squeezing him gently. She'd been well aware of the fact for over eight years, now.

He blinks, is silent for a long while. "But, but Rose," he stammers, desperate to make her see. "Look at him." He finally looks down at her, and his eyes are warm and wet, shining with awe and admiration. "He's ours," he breathes roughly, reverently.

It hits her, just how much he loves their little boy, how much she loves him for it. She leans her head into his shoulder, feels tears burning behind her eyes. She'd never dreamed, not since that terrible day at Bad Wolf Bay, that she would ever, ever have this. She sighs. "Yeah," she whispers, smiling softly at him.

He holds her in his arms, gazes at their son, still completely awestruck at the prospect. My son is seven years old, he thinks suddenly, eyes widening at the thought. He can't believe he'd missed so much, would give anything to go back, to hear his first words and catch him as he took his first steps, to pick him up off the ground when he scraped his knees and to tell him bedtime stories. He shudders. "Rose, I've missed so much," he whispers roughly, cannot tear his eyes away from his son.

She sighs. She would have given anything to have him there. They'd managed, had lived well and been happy, but oh, she'd missed him, and Dex had always, whether he'd known it or not, needed his father. "Eight years," she says quietly. It had been a long time.

"Eight?" he asks, reluctantly dragging his eyes away from his son and looking at her questioningly. Dex had told him he was seven.

"Yeah," she says softly, looking up at him. "Had his eighth birthday, about a week ago." She sniffs, watching her sleeping son. "I missed it."

Oh. He looks at Dex. "He never told me," he says sadly, thinks with a pang that he's missed another birthday, resolves to make up for lost time, staring tomorrow. He squeezes Rose's hand, mind churning with ideas.

"That's because it's not until tomorrow." The little voice startles him and he nearly jumps. "At least, in our timeline," Dex says groggily, sitting up and blinking at them. "Honestly, Dad," he says reproachfully, "I was trying to sleep."

"Oh." The Doctor blinks, realizes that he's woken his son with his babbling. "Oh." He looks at him wide-eyed. "Sorry, sorry," he says, scratching his neck and looking pleadingly to Rose. She is grinning at him, offers him no help. "I'll just- We'll just..." Rose is laughing now, and Dex is watching him stoically, but his large green eyes sparkle with amusement.

He looks between them, realizes they are laughing at him. "What?" he asks, in what he hopes is a casual voice, pulling at his earlobe self-consciously.

A sly look passes between Dex and Rose, and the Doctor glances between them. He has a sinking feeling that he is being set up, has no idea what to expect from the two of them. The thought scares him thoroughly.

Dex looks at him with big green eyes, and the Doctor thinks it's a miracle that he doesn't melt into a puddle of Time Lord goo. "Dad," says Dex softly, eyes large and imploring. "I don't know how I'll go back to sleep now."

Oh, now he knows he's being had. He looks helplessly at Rose, but she only shrugs, as if to say, 'you woke him.' He scratches at his neck, sighs heavily, looks at Dex pleadingly.

Dex very nearly rolls his eyes. Dad may be brilliant, but sometimes, he really is thick. Dex sighs, gives his father the patient stare he usually reserves for Gran. "I'll sleep better if you tell me a story," he says flatly, and he sees Mum grin behind Dad's shoulder.

Oh. The Doctor blinks. Oh. He looks at Rose hesitantly, as if asking permission, and she grins at him, nodding toward Dex and nudging him gently foward. He steps tentatively into the room, as if in a daze. His hearts swell; it had never occurred to him that his son would actually want him to tell him a bedtime story.

He crawls carefully into the bed, and Dex flops under the covers, snuggling into the crook of his arm. The Doctor watches his son, awestruck at the moment, and Dex lets him, knows he needs to give him time. He looks at Mum, who is smiling softly at them, and waves her over. She climbs over them, onto the other side of Dex, settles in and runs her hand through Dex's hair, thinks that she will make him trim it, tomorrow.

She looks at the Doctor, is blown away by the tenderness in his eyes. He'll sit here all night, she thinks, shaking her head. She reaches across Dex, nudges him in the ribs. "You gonna tell us a story, or what?" she asks him, grinning with her tongue between her teeth.

He starts, looks at him, his son and his love, everything that matters in the entire universe right here, in this bed. "Oh, yes," he says softly, eyes alight with joy. "Dex," he says, cocking an eyebrow at his son. "Did I ever tell you about how your mother saved me?"

Dex shakes his head, looks at his mum wide-eyed.

"And which time is this?" Rose asks lightly, teasing him.

He shoots her a look, though he knows there is so much more truth behind her statement than she will ever comprehend. "The first time," he tells her, smiling his real smile that brightens his eyes.

Dex is watching him raptly, eyes shining with anticipation. The Doctor clears his throat and begins his story.


	43. Epilogue

They stand on a lonely hill overlooking an open, rocky field. They are silent as the Doctor passes them, hurrying away from the guards that are returning from their fruitless chase. A stone clatters as he passes by, and Dex ducks quickly behind a large rock, closing his eyes and blocking his mind tightly. The Doctor pauses, eyes darting frantically. His gaze lands fleetingly on Dex's rock, and the Doctor looks at it carefully, brow furrowed, and Dex holds his breath. The Doctor blinks, shakes his head and hurries on, and Dex feels a breath of wind as his father passes just feet away from his hiding place. Dex breathes a sigh of relief and stands carefully.

He looks down the hill and grips her hand tightly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks her softly.

She looks up at him, brown eyes hard with resolve. "Yeah," she chokes, thankful that Dex had agreed to come with her, to do this one last thing. It will be hard for them both.

Dex looks down at her and squeezes her hand. He can hear the guards shouting in the distance, knows they are coming closer. "We don't have long," he whispers. She nods, and together, they make their way down the hill.

A whirring buzz drones into his peaceful haze, and he grunts, blinks his eyes open. His lungs are raw and sore, his entire chest burns, and he really, really just wants to fall asleep, for the pain to end. He stares into warm, brown eyes, sees a flash of bright red hair and a familiar face. He blinks, tries to pull his brain out of the fog. He knows this face.

Strong, gentle hands brush against his temples, and the Doctor starts at the contact. "Shh, Dad, it's fine," says a low, deep voice, and the Doctor relaxes instinctively. The pain fades away, and he finds that it's easier to focus, now. Someone must have blocked my pain receptors, he thinks, still a bit groggily.

Wait. Dad, said the voice. He blinks furiously, and slowly, the images come into focus. He is face to face with a young woman, a woman who looks very much like him, with deep brown eyes, his jawline, his freckles, his forehead, but most striking of all is her long, bright red hair that flows down her back in tousled waves.

He recognizes her.

He chokes on the words, finds that cannot speak. She smiles at him, and oh, it's her mother's smile, and he feels tears burn in his eyes. When he saw the timeline, he'd never seen her this grown up, this beautiful.

"Hi, Dad," she chokes, voice wavering ever so slightly, and he reaches for her, grips her hand tightly.

"Ara," he manages, breathless.

"Oi, shut it," she says softly, tears in her eyes. She reaches up and gently brushes back his hair, and he beams at her, thinking that there must be much more of Donna in him than he'd originally thought.

Strong arms wrap around him, and he is lifted gently, realizes that he is looking into the piercing green eyes of his son. My little boy, he thinks, shocked to see Dex all grown up. "Wha-" he chokes, but Dex cuts him off.

"Don't speak, Dad, please," he says, gaze soft and sad. The Doctor thinks he can see a shimmering wetness in his eyes, well-disguised, the Doctor thinks sadly, wondering when his little boy had learned to hide his grief.

Dex carries him carefully up the hill, and the Doctor is surprised to feel the mournful hum of the TARDIS in his mind. Dex lays him gently on the ground, and the Doctor looks up at them.

"You-" he rasps, waving his hands feebly toward the TARDIS, looks at them questioningly.

Ara settles beside him and takes his hand. "Unfinished business," she says lightly, but she looks him solemnly in the eye.

Dex takes his other hand, and the Doctor looks up at them, his children, has never been so proud in all of his lives.

Dex squeezes his hand. "We just wanted you to know," he says softly, fixing his large green eyes seriously on the Doctor, "that Mum never forgot you."

"None of us have," says Ara, gently running her fingers across his forehead. It is uncanny, just how identical they are, and even though Ara knew it would hurt, she hadn't been prepared for just how viciously it tears at her heart.

Dex runs a finger over his knuckles. "Mum always missed you. We grew up hearing stories about you." He smiles at the memories, and the Doctor's heart warms.

Dex looks away, suddenly feels vulnerable under his father's gaze. "Thank you," he says softly, sincerely, "for what you did today. You saved us all."

The Doctor feels tears roll down his cheeks, opens his mouth to speak, but Ara stops him. "We want to show you," she says haltingly, blinking back tears. She sniffs, swallows hard. "We want to show you what you did for us."

Dex raises his hands hesitantly to his father's temples, and the Doctor nods in assent, doesn't think he could speak even if he wanted to. They enter his mind, both of his children, and he can sense the swirling chaos of their emotions, feels the shimmering green and brown of their presence against his.

They flood him with memories, show him everything of the next seventeen years, all of the brilliant things to come. It is glorious, achingly beautiful, and the Doctor thinks it's all worth it, that he would choose his fate again and again just for this one shining moment with his children.

They pull back slowly, and the Doctor looks at them, astonished. "Thank you," he breathes reverently, searing their faces into his heart.

Dex squeezes his hand and Ara lays a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Thank you," she says softly.

He beams at them, has never been so full of joy and pride and love as he is now. He struggles, wants to sit up, but can't quite find the strength. He grips both of their hands tightly, looks them seriously in the eyes.

"I love you both," he chokes, as clearly as he can. The effort costs him, and he closes his eyes.

Dex leans his head on his father's shoulder. "Oh, Dad, we know," he breathes softly, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Ara cannot hold back her tears any longer. She brushes her hand across his forehead, wishes she could have more time. "We love you, too," she whispers fiercely.

The Doctor smiles at his children and sinks into a deep, painless sleep.

They take him to Aerrinedex VII and give him a proper Gallifreyan ceremony. The rays cry forlornly as they soar over the deep purple sea, and Dex silently takes his sister's hand as they watch the bright orange flames flicker in the sunset.

The Doctor paces the field manically, hands running furiously through his hair. 4 minutes, 16.8 seconds. He groans. As if that means anything.

Rose had insisted on visiting Jack, and he'd obliged, grumbling more out of habit than actual sentiment. Jack had expressed an interest in in New Earth, had gone on about the severe lack of a night life in Cardiff. The kids had never seen apple grass, and Rose was eager to see if the shopping center still carried those stilettos that didn't hurt her feet. The Doctor grudgingly agreed, against his better judgement, and had landed them in the sprawling green field of grass across from the hospital.

Rose had been giggling with Jack, and the Doctor was watching her, smile on his face, when he'd heard an ominous click. He'd whirled around just as the materialization sequence initiated, had run, barely missing the door as his TARDIS faded out of existence.

He'd realized, abruptly, that he could feel neither of his children, had begun pacing furiously, muttering under his breath, counting the each agonizing second.

Rose lays a hand gently on his shoulder. He stops, looks at her. "They- They took the TARDIS!" he sputters, not sure whether he is shocked or scared or angry.

Rose nods at him. "I know," she says patiently, and it infuriates him, her calm acceptance.

He hears a familiar wheeze, watches his TARDIS blink into being. Both of his children step out, Ara followed by Dex, and the Doctor exhales sharply with relief. Fine, he breathes to himself. They are fine.

Anger, he thinks, firmly resolving his previous dilemma. "Where did you go?" he asks, voice deceptively light, leaning forward slightly on the balls of his feet and resting his hands shallowly in his pockets.

Ara stares at him for a moment, wide-eyed, and the Doctor suddenly wonders if his children really are okay, just what they've seen. "Daddy," she breathes, and she flings herself into his arms.

He grunts at the force of it, gives a startled little laugh and wraps his arms around her. "What's this for?" he asks, shocked. Ara had not hugged him like this in a very long time. He is surprised to find how much he's missed it.

Rose shoots a questioning glance at Dex, and he grips her hand and shows her, briefly, where they've been. She gasps, looks at Dex with tears in her eyes, and pulls him into a fierce hug. "Thank you," she breathes into his ear.

The Doctor watches his son, knows that he is not receiving the whole story. Ara breathes shakily into his chest, and he pulls her back just slightly, is shocked to see that his fiery little girl is crying. "Oh, Aurora," he says softly, gently wiping her tears, "where have you been?"

She sniffs, remembers her resolve not to tell him all she's seen, what she'd had to do. "I'm okay, Dad," she says, smiling softly at him. "It's just good to see you, is all."

He cocks an eyebrow questioningly at his son. "How long were you gone?" he asks, probing curiously at the timelines.

"'Bout a week," says Dex lightly, "and I'll have one of those, too." The Doctor suddenly finds himself squashed between his children.

"Right," he says softly, struck by just how quickly his kids have grown up. He looks over Dex's shoulder at Rose, but she is staring into the distance, eyes far away.

He knows then that he will never hear the entire story of where they'd been, realizes, surprised, that he is okay with it. He holds them in his arms and cherishes the moment, so very rare now that they are nearly grown. He is suddenly overwhelmed by just how much he loves them. "I love you both," he tells them fiercely, feels Ara stiffen just slightly in his arms, thinks, regretfully, that he doesn't tell them nearly enough.

Dex looks him seriously in the eye. "We know."

Ara reaches up and kisses her father on the cheek, pulls away, eyes searching for Jack. The Doctor bites back a groan. "Ara," he drawls warningly.

She turns and grins at him, tongue between her teeth. "Don't worry, Dad," she calls, holding back laughter. "Next time, we'll tell you."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Next time, you'll ask me," he says firmly.

She laughs and runs to Jack, shouting, "Oi! Captain America!" The Doctor groans, running his hands through his hair and wondering just how he will navigate the next few years.

Dex nudges his shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he says lightly, and the Doctor looks at him curiously.

"Oh?" he says, cocking an eyebrow at his son.

"Yeah," he says, shooting a pointed gaze at Jack, who is flirting shamelessly with his sister. "Jack and I have an arrangement." He folds his arms across his chest, and the Doctor looks at his son, notices that Dex is wearing a familiar leather jacket over his unzipped hoodie, is standing with his feet planted firmly on the ground, deep green eyes glittering brightly. The sight warms his hearts. Dex shrugs. "I think he's afraid of me."

The Doctor nearly laughs, thinking, certainly not for the first time, that his son is a miracle. He claps a hand on Dex's shoulder. "Good," he says, and Dex beams at him.

Dex notices Mum watching Dad carefully from the corner of her eye. "I'm going to go check the transistor cable," he says, nodding to the TARDIS. "She's been a bit sluggish."

The Doctor widens his eyes. "Careful," he warns, thinking that Dex is very brave to voluntarily venture so deeply into the circuits.

Dex waggles his fingers at his father. "Tenner says I don't get burned."

The Doctor cocks an eyebrow. "You're on," he says, secretly thinking that he's lost ten quid, and Dex laughs, slips into the TARDIS.

He looks at Rose, notices his quiet she's been. He wraps his arms around her. "Alright?" he asks lightly, gaze warm and full of concern.

She smiles up at him, and he thinks he sees a flash of sadness in her eyes, but it disappears before he can be certain. "Yeah," she says, straightening his tie needlessly. He gently lays a finger under her jaw and looks her in the eye. He knows better than that.

She sighs. "Just... Are you happy?" she asks him quietly.

He pulls her close to him, tugs at their bond and floods her with his joy. "Oh, yes," he breathes roughly, and she grins at him, her beautiful, tongue-touched grin, and he lifts her and spins her around.

He stumbles, dizzy, and they crash to the ground, giggling breathlessly. He moves to pick her up, but she pushes him down into the soft grass, rests her head on his shoulder.

He sighs contentedly and wraps his arms around her, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of apple grass.


End file.
